A World Apart
by andeemae
Summary: Madge only had five slips with her name on them, what were the odds?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

**A World Apart**

AN: Many thanks to FortuneFaded2012 for the beta. Just so everyone knows, this isn't the same as the little group of stories from my au trilogy thingie. I used those stories as a skeleton for this story, so some of the elements are still there, but I changed some things and expanded it to make it into a full story, if that makes any sense. Hope it's not a complete disappointment. Thanks!

#######

Madge stays on her side, curled around the decorative pillow, listening to the hum of the train as it glides over the countryside. Outside the drapes Districts she would've never seen slip past, Districts she'll never see now, if only because she doesn't have the energy to go to the window.

Staring at the wall, the soft blue textured paint, she tries to remember the Reaping, but the day is a blur.

She remembers standing under the sun, perspiration rolling down her back, and she remembers seeing Katniss-hair up in an elaborate twist, her mother's creation no doubt, and a simple but beautiful dress. A far cry from the girl that had sold her strawberries only a few hours earlier.

There was a sense of fear around Katniss that normally wasn't there, and Madge remembered that this was her younger sister's-the only person she seemed to have any real affection for-first Reaping. As much as she'd wanted to go and reassure Katniss that twelve year olds are hardly ever picked, it seemed a futile effort.

Despite the fact that _Madge_ only had five slips, a knot of anxiety had settled in her stomach, an overwhelming sense of foreboding settling in her blood.

Her mother's twin had only five slips too, and that hadn't tipped the odds in her favor, why should it provide her mother's only daughter with any?

The history of the Games had been read, Madge had followed along in her head. She'd listened to her father read it for almost her entire life and could've repeated it by rote if needed.

Mr. Abernathy had made a fool of them all, not for the first time, and she doubts for the last time, yelling and falling around, practically mauling Ms. Trinket before settling into his seat.

Madge remembers, crystal clear, despite the haze surrounding the rest of the day, watching Ms. Trinket's hideously manicured hand dive into the Reaping bowl. She remembers hearing Gale's voice on a loop in her head.

_"You won't be going to the Capitol."_

_"What can you have? Five entries?"_

It was Gale that had reminded her that this was the year she had the same number of slips as her mother and her twin, Maysilee, had when Maysilee had been Reaped. Gale had been the reason she'd had her normally fragile calm snatched away.

"Magdalene Undersee!"

Even though she'd known it was her name, it wasn't until Delly, with her little round face and her watery blue eyes, tapped her shoulder and said 'That's you Madge' that she could acknowledge it.

Her mind, despite being in turmoil, had kept enough sense to force her face into a blank stare, crying or breaking down wouldn't save her, it would only feed the Careers desire to make her suffer rather than give her a swift death.

How she'd made it to the stage she doesn't remember, not walking through the crowd nor up the little wooden steps. She does have the image of her father, skin ashen, and the dark circles under his eyes from the sleepless nights the week before the Reaping brings, a little bit darker. Madge could almost hear the 'I'm sorry' he couldn't say.

"Well isn't this a treat," Ms. Trinket trilled, pulling her roughly from her spot and spinning her to face the unfriendly mass. "The daughter of the Mayor! How lucky and honored you must feel?"

Someone in the crowd laughed, and despite the seriousness of the situation, Madge almost laughed too. She battled it back though, because if she started she wouldn't be able to stop. The only way she'd be able to quit would be to dissolve into tears.

Ms. Trinket's too white teeth shimmered out at Madge as she awaited her answer, but all Madge managed was a weak nod. Telling her being drawn was the exact opposite of an honor would've only brought down more suffering on her father and mother.

She'd asked for Volunteers, receiving only a lonely breeze in response.

"No one?" She'd smiled expectantly out at the crowd. They stayed silent though, probably still in shock that the Mayor's daughter had just been Reaped. "Then now for the young gentleman that will be accompanying her!"

She plunged her hand deep into the bowl, digging around for several seconds before finally deciding on one and pulling it out. Carefully, she unfolded it and read off the unlucky boy's name.

"Arlo Riley!"

He'd appeared from the eighteen year old boys section, somewhere near the back, but not near Gale. She'd have noticed that. Despite the fact that she was doomed, being shuttled off for wrapping before her funeral, she didn't want Gale to come with her. Unlike her, he had people depending on him. Instead of watching Ms. Trinket fumble around in the bowl, Madge had kept her eyes on Gale, willing his slips from the escort's hand.

It all moved fast and silently after that.

She knows her father read the Treaty of Treason, dropping the cards he normally didn't even need to use several times and his voice cracking, because he does it every year, and she knows she shakes Arlo's enormous hand, because that's what happens, but it's all in a fog. It might've been part of an old television serial for all the detail, color and sound, surrounding it in her mind.

What she does remember is being pushed into the back room of the Justice Building.

That was one of the only comforts she knew she'd get, a final glimpse of a place so familiar to her it was almost like a second home.

Once, years before, one of the Victor's had told her that all the Justice halls were furnished the same.

"Like funeral homes," the girl had said. "Pretty and cold."

Madge had never thought she was right until the moment she took in the small room. There was a small velvet couch, heavy, dusty curtains, and a few plain, faded paintings on the walls.

It was exactly like a funeral home, and she was the deceased. This was a viewing for a body that wasn't even cold yet.

"Magdalene?"

She had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn't even heard her father come in.

Running, she lunged at him, held him as tightly as she could, it was her last chance, and she wouldn't waste the opportunity.

"I'm scared," she'd whispered.

They were going to kill her, that's all there was to it. She had no skills, no experience surviving or finding food. She'd be dead before she steps off her podium.

"It's going to be okay, Pearl," he told her. Despite the fact that it was a hollow comfort, his voice was steady.

He pulled back, his eyes red rimmed and watery. "Listen to Haymitch."

"Dad-"

"No," he'd silenced her, cut her off from telling him that if Mr. Abernathy hadn't been able to get anyone home in almost twenty-five years he wasn't about to start now. Besides, he was a drunk, that wasn't changing anytime soon, no matter how fond he was of Madge.

"Listen to Haymitch. Do what he tells you. He's-He'll get you home."

Madge had almost snapped that even if she listened, followed Mr. Abernathy's every word to the letter, there was still almost no chance of her coming home in anything other than a pine box. Beyond all that, she'd watched enough Victors, not just Mr. Abernathy, and she was positive the life of a Victor wasn't for her.

"They seem so sad," she'd told Mr. Abernathy, after meeting his newest fellow Victor and her Mentor.

"Victory isn't everything, sweetheart," is all Mr. Abernathy had said back.

Years later, after watching the light fading from the eyes of so many, she knows what he meant. It isn't an enviable position, she isn't sure what steals the life from all the Victors' eyes, hollows them out and dresses them up, but she doesn't want to know. She has no desire to join his exclusive club.

Instead of telling her father that, ruining her last moments with him, she just fell back into a hug, allowed the tears she refused to let fall in front of the Cameras flood out and onto the shoulder of his jacket.

"I love you," she'd told him with a wet, broken voice. "Tell mom I love her. Tell her I'm sorry and-"

The Peacekeepers had come in and gestured for her father to leave. His time was up. Being the Mayor didn't earn him a few extra minutes with his only child. They might've been important in Twelve, but to the Capitol, they were only pawns, small and unimportant.

He'd pressed a kiss to her hair, murmured he loved her so-so-so much before letting the Peacekeepers usher him from the room.

When the door opened a few seconds later, it isn't Katniss or Gale as she hoped, but ash blond hair and a sad smile.

Peeta Mellark.

He stood at the doorway for several seconds, watching her, dust from the carpet that her father had kicked up exiting floating around his head.

"I'm sorry, Madge."

It sounded genuine, and even if it wasn't, Madge decided to pretend it was. Peeta would at least be at her funeral, he was already attending her wake.

"Thank you," Madge answered back, tears once again forming in her eyes.

He took a few steps, crossed the room and pulled her into a hug.

"You don't deserve this," he whispered.

She chuckled, a watery, pathetic thing. "Does anyone?"

He tightened his hold and she felt him shake his head.

Madge remembers he smelled like vanilla, bread, and the smoke from the ovens in the bakery. Peeta was warm and safe and in that moment she'd wanted nothing more than to melt into him, absorb into his kindness and be saved from the horror that awaited her.

They didn't talk again until the Peacekeepers came in and told Peeta to leave.

"Be brave, Madge," he whispered, tears dripping off his jaw as he left.

There was no one else.

No more visitors, no more friends.

No Katniss, who Madge had wanted to give her pin to, she could sell it and keep her family in bread for a lifetime. No Gale, not to taunt her or, less likely, to apologize.

No one.

Her last few minutes in Twelve had been spent alone, sitting on the green velvet couch, surrounded by dust and silence.

Now curled up on the bed in the room Ms. Trinket had told her was hers, she thinks it was fitting. She'd gone out as she'd lived. Alone.

#######

It's dark when she hears the knock, which she ignores.

She'd skipped dinner, hadn't come out of her room since getting on the train. There wasn't enough energy left in her for listening to Ms. Trinket tell her how exciting it was to have the daughter of a Mayor as Tribute.

"You're being incredibly rude, Miss Undersee!" Ms. Trinket had yelled through the door after Madge had disappeared behind it only minutes after getting on the train, having told her she needed to use the restroom.

Madge hadn't responded to her yelling, only covered her head with a pillow to muffle the sound of her shrill voice as it berated her from the hallway.

After nearly an hour, and a shouting match with Mr. Abernathy, she'd left Madge in peace.

Assuming it's Ms. Trinket again, come to give her another round of admonishments for her behavior, Madge pulls the comforter over her head, turning herself into a lump in the center of the overly large bed.

When she doesn't answer the door starts to jiggle, she hears keys tinkling and then the rattle of the lock as someone unlocks her door.

A little curious, she peeks out from under her barrier and sees the yellow light cutting into the thick dark of her room from the doorway.

Instead of Ms. Trinket, in her pink wig and green suit, she finds Mr. Abernathy, holding a tray of food and giving her a curious look.

"You're lucky our darling escort doesn't have the brains to ask the staff for keys," he grumbles as he comes in, kicking the door shut and plunging them back into darkness.

Balancing the tray, he flicks on the lights, blinding Madge in the process.

He takes the tray and gently sets it on the bedside table, the water in the little glass sloshing out a little onto the napkin. Carefully, he uncovers the plate, gesturing to a pile of cured meats, cheeses, and fruits. "Eat up, kid."

Sitting up, Madge shakes her head. "I'm not hungry."

The lines on his face double as he frowns. "You're gonna need your strength." He picks up a strawberry and puts it in her hand. "Eat."

Madge stares at the strawberry, remembering that at home her father is probably eating the ones she'd bought from Gale and Katniss less than twenty-four hours before, and tears start to build up again. She forces the berry back at him. "I'm n-not hungry."

"Oh, Pearl."

Just as the tears bubble over, start pouring out and off her face and to the comforter clutched in her free hand, Mr. Abernathy pulls her into a hug.

"I'm scared," she manages to tell him. It's a lie though. She's terrified.

It would be easier if they just sent her into the Arena the moment the train reached the Capitol, the buildup, the pomp and pageantry are more nerve wracking than the battle that awaits her. Death will be quick, and, hopefully painless, but with each show the chance for a misstep, to make a mistake and bring danger on her family and friends increases.

She's terrified for them.

"Shhh, don't worry," he whispers. "I'm going to take care of everything."

Pulling back, she wipes her nose on the back of her hand and shakes her head. "There's nothing to take care of."

Is he picking out her casket?

Taking her by the shoulders, he forces her to look him in the eye. "There's a lot to take care of, and I'm doing it."

There's something dangerous in his eyes, a light she doesn't recognize that worries her. She swallows down a lump in her throat. "What are you planning?"

Mr. Abernathy sighs, reaches in his pocket and pulls a white handkerchief out. Before she can stop him, he begins wiping her face, brushing away the tears still slipping out the corners of her eyes. "Don't worry about it. Just know I'm getting you home."

He's delusional.

"Mr. Abernathy, I have no survival skills. I've never even slept outside." She takes the handkerchief from him and twists it in her hands. "I'm as good as dead. You should focus on Arlo."

"That little bastard?" He scoffs. "Just like all the others. No brains. You on the other hand, you got a good head on your shoulders. All you've got to do is use it and stay alive. Leave the rest to me."

He _is_ delusional.

Madge stares at him, her mouth is probably dropped open a little.

She remembers all the nights he's turned up at their house drunk, all the times she's watched her father clean him up and put him to rest in one of their guestrooms. Her mind pulls up memories of former Victors, with their newest initiates, visiting Twelve on their Victory Tours. They were all beautiful and broken. Hollowed out beings with painted smiles and vacant stares. Worse than her own even, and she doesn't think she can bear that.

Before she can stop herself her mouth gives her thoughts an exit. "I don't know that I want to."

He doesn't get mad, doesn't get up and storm out, just sighs and rubs one of his hands over his eyes. After a minute of thought he looks up, giving her a sad smile. "I _have to_. I _want to._"

Maybe it's because he came home and Maysilee didn't, maybe he feels like he owes Madge's mother a life for a life, or because he's friends with her father, or maybe it's because he's known her since she was very small, but the look in his eyes, that dangerous light glowing in them lets her know he's deadly serious.

He has to get Madge home. There's no question of it for him.

Arguing with him won't do her any good, his mind is set and he's a stubborn man, so despite her mind telling her that she's a lamb being carted to slaughter, she nods. "Okay."

She'll play along with him, she'll be his piece in this Game, even if she doesn't believe for a second that she'll be coming home. She can't bring herself to break his heart.

A little smile creeps onto his face. "Good." He stands up, straightens out the legs of his pants and runs his hand through his hair before looking at her. "You just use your head, Pearl, stay alive, and I'll take care of the rest."

He jabs his thick finger at the tray and gives her a sharp look. "At least drink for me."

Madge gives him a little smile. "Is it spiked?"

He chuckles. "If you're anything like your mother you'd better hope not."

With one last smile, he pats her shoulder and heads out the door.

"Mr. Abernathy," Madge stops him, holds out his handkerchief.

"Keep it. I think I ruined your napkin." He tells her before disappearing out the door.

Folding it up, she sets it in her lap and picks up another strawberry. As she takes a bite, she thinks of her parents and finds it a little bitter.

She puts the cover back on the food and downs the water. Food can wait.

#######

Gale sits on the hard little bench in the Justice Building and stares up the hall toward door at the far end.

Madge isn't there anymore, he'd squandered his chance to see her before they dragged her off to be murdered on television. He'd been too afraid to go in, especially after he'd watched one of the baker's sons go in and come out as a tearful mess.

He hadn't been able to pinpoint why he hadn't been able to go in, stand up from the uncomfortable bench and take the few steps to the door to apologize for his words.

_"You won't be going to the Capitol." _

Who would've thought that out of thousands of slips, one of the five with 'Magdalene Undersee' would've found their way into Effie Trinkets terrifying claws?

Even though she must've been terrified, Gale didn't see so much as a flicker of weakness cross Madge's face. Years as the Mayor's daughter had clearly come in handy today. Despite coming from the District with the worst track record and the most humiliating of all Victors, Madge hadn't given the Capitol or other Tributes any sign that she was an easy mark.

Though if they were anything like him they'd spot a soft girl, a girl who had no idea how to kill and scavenge, a girl that would be gone before the bloodbath even ended.

Running his hands over his face before letting them settle at his neck and massage out the ache that had formed there, he sighs.

"Pathetic," he mutters to himself.

He was pathetic.

He'd forfeited his chance to apologize because he was pathetic. Madge will be dead and he'll never get to unburden himself.

Maybe, he finally thinks, that's why he had only been able to walk into her room and tell her he had truly not believed there was a chance she would have been picked.

Gale deserves to be burdened. He'd picked at someone that hadn't done anything to deserve it and the worst possible outcome, that his barb had twisted on itself and snatched her away, had occurred.

He hadn't been able to apologize because in the end he didn't deserve to be forgiven, and now he never will be.

Madge isn't coming home.

He gets up from the bench, his knees stiff from the angle and heads for the door.

It's dark out already and he looks at the clock and realizes he's been sitting in the Justice Building for several hours.

_Wonder why they didn't kick me out?_

Maybe they were just feeling generous on Reaping Day.

His mother is probably worried about him, so he heads back toward the Seam, glancing down the small road that leads to Madge's house. The lights are out, and he wonders if the Mayor and his wife are sitting in the kitchen eating the strawberries their vanished daughter had purchased only hours earlier.

Unlike the family of Arlo Riley, who will receive comfort and condolences, the Mayor and his wife aren't likely to be given so much as a pat on the shoulder or an 'I'm so sorry for your loss'.

It's a gloomy thought and he tries to push it away, but by the time he gets home he's decided that he'll get up early and head to the woods to pick another bucket of strawberries.

Gale might've failed to unburden himself with Madge, but he can still try to make it up to the only people left from her life.

If anyone needs a sweet, a little 'I'm sorry' and comfort, it'll be the Mayor and Mrs. Undersee.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

**A World Apart, pt 2**

AN: A thousand thanks to FortuneFaded2012 for the beta.

#######

"Just let the prep team do what they need to," had been Mr. Abernathy's last bit of advice before Madge had been pulled from the train and handed over to the glittering triplets.

"Finally got one that isn't hairy," the lone female, Madge thinks her name is Anthea, chirps happily.

"And look at her nails!" Lucius, or maybe he was Cicero, shouted as he forced Madge's hands into a vat of some clear substance that made her fingers tingle. "Not nearly as bad as they usually are!"

There are no clocks, so Madge isn't sure how long they keep her in the chilly metal room, washing her in perfumed water and scrubbing her until her skin hurts, despite claiming that she's one of the cleanest Tributes they've ever had to work with.

When they finally finish, lather her up in some strange lotion that smells faintly of honey and milk, she's exhausted, and the work isn't even finished.

They put her in a white walled room with stark tiled floors, icy cold. Even though she knows she shouldn't, she pulls her robe on. She's never much cared for the cold.

It's barely a minute after she's slipped the plush robe on that her stylist comes in.

She isn't as Capitol as most of the stylists, which are perennial and clinging to their faded youth. In fact, Madge thinks she looks quite pretty, actually young and vibrant, unlike her cohorts.

She's taller than Madge by several inches, though her heels, which are pointed and lethal looking, are a good portion of her height. Despite the shoes, she's not quite what Madge had expected. Her dress is beautiful, but plain black, matched to her dark lipstick and making her bright eye shadow glow.

Her dark eyes glow, warm and soft as she smiles at Madge and holds out her hand. "So good to finally meet you, Magdalene. My name is Portia."

Hesitantly, Madge takes it. Portia's skin is darker than Madge's by more than a few shades and impossibly soft and even when she squints at her, Madge can't see so much as a faded blemish. On anyone else Madge would think it was Capitol work, but Portia seems effortlessly, naturally, beautiful, and that eases Madge's mind. This woman isn't going to send her home looking like something off of Mrs. Oberst's Capitol programs. Her parents will recognize the body returned to them.

Still, Madge keeps her expression even. Even if Portia isn't as Capitol outwardly as she could be, she's one of them. She's there to prepare Madge for slaughter, and that's what Madge holds to her.

"Take a seat," she tells Madge, gracefully settling herself onto one of the silk covered chaises.

Reaching out, she takes a strand of Madge's hair, twirls it in her fingers before dropping it and smiling.

"What do you expect for your costume for the parade?"

Madge frowns. Twelve is almost always dressed as coal miners, though there was the one year they'd been naked and smeared in coal dust. "I'm not sure."

_Please not naked._

"What do you know about coal? What have they taught you in school?"

It's a bit like talking with her father. Question after question all while knowing what the ultimate answer will be, where they want to go. At least it's familiar in the sea of new.

"We burn it. It provides heat and power and-"

"Those are functions," Portia cuts her off. "Do you think the Capitol notices functions?"

Biting the inside of her mouth, Madge tries to remember everything she's ever learned about the coal Twelve mines. Sweat begins to bead up in her hair and she curses herself. She's normally so much better under pressu-

"Diamonds," she whispers looking quickly at the now smiling Portia. "They say that with enough pressure and heat, coal turns to diamonds."

Even though that's not true, Madge doubts the Capitol would know that. Twelve's own curriculum still held onto that outdated bit of trivia, so the likelihood that the Capitol believes it is high.

Portia's smile widens. "That is what they say, isn't it?"

#######

Madge stares at her hair, twisted up and piled on her head, woven with strands of midnight black that Portia assures her wash out easily.

Her dress is dark, and mercifully, isn't too revealing. The hem hits her ankles, and despite being strapless, doesn't threaten to fall off with each step, which she had suspected was the plan when she first saw it.

"It's good to keep a little mystery about you," Portia had chuckled when Madge had asked her that very thing. "So no peep shows."

Twisting, Madge watches as the speckles catch the light, making her glow.

"You're the diamond in the rough," Portia explained as she finished pinning Madge's hair. "And during the interviews, we'll show them the cut stone."

Madge thinks that District One might not like the infringement on their territory, they are the luxury district after all, but doesn't say anything. She doesn't want to end up naked or dressed in last year's Tributes' outfits.

Portia pushes Madge up into the chariot beside the uncomfortable looking Arlo.

He's dressed similarly, a dark suit with little flecks of diamond embedded in it, but instead of dark, his hair has white stripes woven into it.

His knuckles are white, gripping tightly onto the edge of the chariot, and when Madge finally gets in beside him, helped by his stylist, she gives him a weak smile. She only gets a grimace in return.

The stylists move away, talking in low tones, right up until the music starts, blares overhead and cuts the dull hum of subdued conversations going on around the Tributes.

The last thing Madge remembers is Cinna, Arlo's stylist, making a gesture, telling them both to smile, before the chariot jerks and they're carted out in front of the screaming masses.

It's hot, stifling, and Madge wonders if she might not actually turn into a diamond under the crush of eyes on her. Through it all though, she smiles, waves, nudges Arlo, who only seems capable of staring dumbly at the events transpiring around him, and keeps up the appearance that there's no place she'd rather be.

Her dress catches all the flashes from the cameras, and when she watches the replay later, she sees the glow, an unearthly shine, that it gives her skin. The crowd eats it up, screams for them just as loudly as they had for the first and second chariot.

If she had the drive to live then she'd know that she has a chance. Her life has been training to play this kind of Game, to put on a show and win the hearts and minds of people from the Capitol. She isn't sure she wants to though. As the chariot stops and the President gives his welcome, her mind floods with the faces of all the broken Victors she's met. She thinks any drive to win she might have is crushed by the thought of joining their ranks.

It isn't until the doors to the Training Center close behind her and she's pulled from the chariot by Mr. Abernathy that she realizes the parade is over. Rest is only a short time away.

When she turns to thank him she sees he's been attended to as well. His hair is clean and combed, face shaven, and clothes fresh and pressed, not that she's never seen him like that before. Every year he's come home from the Games he's looked more or less as he does now only to return to his previous states after a week or two. The difference between all those other times and now, though, is the distinct lack of alcohol on his breath. He smells like soap and cologne and Madge wonders how many days until that fades away too.

He pulls her into a hug. "Did great, sweetheart."

Ms. Trinket, dressed in sunshine yellow, gathers them up and leads them all to the elevator, a glass structure that makes Madge's stomach ache the entire way up.

Once Madge is directed to her room, which is as large and lavish and, once again, too cold, she pulls her hair down and fights her way out of her dress.

The shower is a little complicated, but after a few false starts, she finally gets it to work and scrubs the diamond dust from her skin and hair.

After nearly an hour, mostly spent staring at her hair in amazement after using a special box to detangle and comb it, Madge quietly pads out to the kitchen, hoping everyone's left and that she can eat whatever Arlo hasn't.

She isn't quite so lucky.

They're almost done, the Avox, a girl with dark red hair, has set out a beautiful cake and lit it afire.

Disappointed, Madge drops into the open seat next to Mr. Abernathy.

"I was wondering if you'd drowned," he says, pushing a plate towards her.

Ms. Trinket smiles. "You were perfect, Magdalene! Absolutely wonderful!"

She beams down the table.

"I was just telling Arlo that I didn't really know about the two of you, but seeing you both out there-I'm just so _proud_! I can't wait to watch the recap!"

She carries on while Arlo smirks and shovels some kind of spicy looking meat into his mouth and Madge picks at the pile of glazed fruit in front of her.

Sleep is farther away than she'd thought.

#######

Gale watches Vick and Rory's eyes widen when Madge's chariot comes into view.

She's glowing, almost like she's on fire, and for several stunned seconds Gale thinks she might be, until he realizes what it is.

Madge is a shining beacon in the dark, the way the lights of the Capitol dance off her.

"She's gorgeous," Vick whispers, his gray eyes wide and focused on the girl that is so familiar, but such a stranger.

"Too bad she's going to die," Rory adds offhandedly.

"Shut up," Gale snaps.

Rory's eyebrows rise, his mouth turns down. "What's your problem? I'm just pointing out the obvious. She's a little Town girl. She hasn't got a chance."

Gale's stomach clenches up and he turns his eyes back to the screen.

His brother is probably right, in fact, Gale is almost certain Rory has Madge's future pegged, but he doesn't want to hear it.

If he doesn't hear it, doesn't give the thought voice, then he can ignore it. He can focus on Madge's smile, which looks painful and painted on, and hope that despite not having any skills, she might have enough smarts to keep herself alive. She's apparently smart enough to smile and wave at the crowds.

"I barely recognize her," Katniss says, eyes tracking the chariot, which the cameras are helpfully staying on.

"She's still there," Peeta Mellark, the baker's son, who'd for some reason decided to stand obnoxiously near them tells her. "They can change a lot about you, but she's still there. You just have to look a little harder."

Katniss only makes a noise in response. She hasn't told him to go away, but she isn't exactly being friendly-at least not by normal standards. Mellark must have a good grasp on her personality though. Giving him any kind of feedback that isn't a go-to-hell look is as good as an invitation to stay.

"Madge is smart. She's playing the Game," Mellark adds.

"The Games haven't started," Rory points out with a snotty look that, if he'd given it to Gale would've earned him a knock on the back of the head.

Mellark though, only laughs. "The Games start the minute they call your name. Madge knows that. If she can keep it up, she has a chance."

Even though he doesn't want to listen to Mellark the Meringue Man over his own brother, his words are far more comforting. Mellark sees that Madge is still there, he sees her as having a chance, and that makes Gale feel a little less delusional.

#######

"Do you really think she has a chance?" Katniss asks as they trail behind their siblings, weaving through the crooked streets of the Seam that lead home.

Gale shrugs. He doesn't know. She's certainly got the Capitol's attention, which is half the battle sometimes, but the other half is an _actual_battle, and Madge doesn't look anymore likely to win in a fight now than she had when she stood on the stage in Twelve.

Still, Mellark's confidence bolsters him a little. Gale doesn't feel quite so delusional if the Town boy has hope.

"I didn't say goodbye," Katniss says, her eyes focused on her mother and Prim up ahead, laughing at something Vick has said.

"Did you want to?" He frowns at her. She and Madge were friendly, it was Katniss that had encouraged him to sell the Mayor and his family strawberries, but he wasn't sure he'd call them friends exactly.

She doesn't say anything, but her jaw seems to tighten.

Maybe Madge had been her friend and she hadn't realized it until she was carted off. Gale still envies her, at least her last words to a doomed girl hadn't been bordering on cruel. She might never get to say her goodbye, but she hadn't ended things on such a sour note.

"What's going on with you and Mellark?" Gale finally says, more to get off the subject of Madge than because he really cares.

Katniss gives him a sharp look. "Nothing."

Gale smirks. "What?"

Hands stuffing into her pockets, Katniss' feet speed up, but Gale is able to keep up with her easily.

"What?" He asks again, enjoying the agitation in her face.

She stops, a little abruptly, glances toward where her mother and Prim are, then sighs.

"He stopped me the other day, after school, said that Madge getting Reaped-he said it made him realize how short life can be," she takes a deep breath, "he told me he's liked me for ages and he doesn't want to miss an opportunity because he's afraid. In case something happens."

Gale feels his jaw drop. "Well? What'd you say?"

Katniss fiddles with the ends of her sleeves. "Nothing. I walked away."

For a second Gale just stares at her, then he laughs. It certainly sounds like something Katniss would do."Really?"

With a huff, Katniss starts to turn and walk away, muttering 'jerk' under her breath, but Gale catches her. "I'm sorry, I am, but-why is he still hanging around?"

Did getting turned down not translate into Town speak?

"I-" Katniss scowls, "I told Prim and she made me go apologize."

That makes Gale laugh again, but he quickly stifles it when he remembers Katniss could have an arrow at the ready on Sunday with his name on it.

She glares, and when Gale nods, fighting off another burst of laughter, she continues. "He said he was sorry for putting me on the spot and asked if he-if we could get to know each other."

Glancing up at her sister again, Katniss crosses her arms. "I'm only putting up with him because Prim thinks it's sweet."

Gale nods, fighting off a smirk. He doubts even Prim could make Katniss put up with someone if she really didn't like them at least a little, but he keeps that thought to himself.

He thinks maybe he should feel jealous. Katniss is his hunting partner, she'd taught him to use a bow and he'd taught her to make snares, they're together as much as two people can be, and he's heard old women whisper that they'll get married one day. He _isn't_ jealous though.

Mellark seems like a decent enough guy, and he has a strange sort of hopefulness about him. Katniss could do with some hopefulness in her life.

Gale could too, but he doubts he's going to get any in the near future.

#######

The Capitol doesn't sleep. Madge watches out her window for hours after the replay of the parade ends and she heads to bed.

_She_ can't sleep anyway.

There are florescent lights burning down below her and stretching out into the distance. She can see people walking along the streets, dressed in their bizarre fashions, probably still talking about the parade. The odds makers are probably out, in the casinos and in backrooms, using the show to start their calculations, and she wonders where she falls.

Someone comes up behind her and sighs.

"There's a club," Mr. Abernathy jabs his finger at the glass, smudging it slightly. "I go to a lot. Good pickle-o's. I'll take you there next year."

Madge can't bring herself to snap at him, tell him she'll be dead next year and he'll be reliving a Quarter Quell, so instead she nods. "Sounds nice."

"You should go to bed. You need your sleep."

There'll be precious little time to sleep in the Arena, with the Careers hunting her. She should get all the sleep she can now. He doesn't say it, but he doesn't have to, she hears it all the same.

He sighs and Madge looks at him.

There's a frightening electricity around him, more intense than the look that had been in his eyes on the train, and Madge knows the chariot ride has only bolstered his belief that she might come home.

Running his hand over his face, pulling his already sagging skin down when he does, he looks over at her. He looks down at his wrist, fiddles with his watch for a second, then back up.

"Focus on survival skills tomorrow. Concealment. The stuff the Careers are going to look down on." His eyes turn back to the city, vibrant colors casting him in an eerie glow. "It's like I've been saying, use your head and you'll stay alive."

"Like you did?"

She doesn't know why she says it. It'll be bound to drag up bad memories for him, and she doesn't really want to do that to him.

For a few seconds he doesn't say anything and Madge half expects him to storm out. Finally, after a deep breath, he looks over at her, a faint smile on his lips.

"You're smarter than I ever was, Pearl. Don't you forget that, understand?"

Madge tears her eyes from him, back out at the blazing city and the starless sky, fighting off the tears that once again threaten to fall.

She's not smarter than him.

She's not smarter or braver than her aunt had been.

She's going to die, and that's the thought that keeps sleep from her grasp.

After all, death is her future. She wants to soak in all the last moments of life, however quiet, that she can.

#######

"Do you think Madge is training?" Vick asks as they walk to school.

Gale grunts. He's trying not to think about Madge trapped in a room full of weapons with the brutes from One and Two, even though in a few days she'll be trapped in an Arena with them.

"What's she gonna train with, you think?"

Again, Gale grunts.

"Probably climbing," Vick answers himself. "That's what I'd do. Those big Careers can't climb 'cause they're like you, Gale, they're too big to get up in the trees."

"I'm not too big to get up in a tree," Gale snaps. He doesn't want to talk about this.

Vick grins. "_Sure_ you aren't."

For the first time in a long time Gale wishes Rory were walking with them and not trailing after the youngest Shumard sister. He might be annoying but he'd at least be able to talk to Vick and take the pressure off Gale.

"So, you think she'll learn tree climbing?"

"I don't know Vick." He adjusts the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. "Can we not talk about this?"

Vick's smile fades and he nods. Gale feels his chest ache at the pitiful expression.

He groans. "Why are you so interested in talking about it?"

As far as Gale can remember, Vick's never shown much interest in the Games. In fact, he remembers his brother clenching his eyes shut during grisly deaths and only watching during required viewings. So far this year he's been glued to the television, soaking up all the commentary.

"The kids at school…" Vick begins, looping his thumbs into the frayed straps of his backpack and sighing. "They're taking bets on how quick she's gonna die, just like the Capitol people do. They think it's funny, since she's the Mayor's daughter."

Gale feels heat flood his face.

He'd heard some kids the day before doing the same thing, between classes, during classes, at lunch…

"She didn't do anything," Vick continues his voice dropping. "I-It's not right. I want her to prove them wrong. I don't want her to die."

Vick's too soft hearted for his own good, one of the million reasons why Gale will never take him out into the woods. He'd be as bad as Prim had been with Katniss.

Rubbing his nose, Vick stares at the coal dust coated ground in front of him and grinds his teeth, waiting for Gale to say _something_, but Gale's never been much for words.

Unless he's railing against the Capitol in the woods, actions have always come to him a little easier.

Knowing it's the only thing he can do, Gale pulls Vick into a hug, ruffling his hair and hoping his youngest brother understand what it means.

He doesn't want her to die either.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

**A World Apart, pt 3**

AN: A thousand thanks to FortuneFaded2012 for the beta.

#######

Madge has never been sorer in her life.

She took Mr. Abernathy's advice, letting the desperate, scared part of her mind win, and deciding to put up what she's sure will be the most pathetic fight for survival ever.

Tree climbing turned out to be surprisingly easy, though Madge made a show out of falling several times just in the off chance anyone happened to be paying attention to her.

Most of her first day after that was spent attempting to make fire, which was harder than it looked. Her fingers were blistered by the time lunch rolled around.

"I think we'll be in a forest of some sort," she'd tried to tell Arlo as he carried a tray of some unidentifiable food to one of the long tables. "I recognize some of the plants and bugs at the edibles section and the trees are like the ones back home."

"That doesn't mean anything," he'd grumbled, ignoring her and focusing on his food.

"They probably planned it out to give us the most information about our Arena. It'll make it more interesting. Remember the year they only had maces?"

Arlo didn't seem to care though, just continued shoveling food before leaving her behind at the table.

"Good observation," Mr. Abernathy tells her that evening when she explains her guess to him. "Not really sure if it holds up. I'll see."

"See how?" She hopes he isn't doing anything dangerous…well, more dangerous.

He grins. "Don't you worry about it, Pearl."

They're on the roof, it's nice. There's a garden with flowers that Madge can't identify and suspects are genetically modified, but they smell so nice she doesn't care.

"Arlo isn't listening to me," she sighs. "I keep trying to help him, but he just stomps off and ignores me."

Mr. Abernathy plucks up one of the flowers and tosses it off the side of the building, leaning over the side and watching it float down. Madge starts to peak over, but jumps back when the flower comes back at her. When she realizes what it is she reaches out and catches it.

"Kid's an idiot," he chuckles. "Focus on yourself."

She doesn't like that. She also doesn't like the fact that he doesn't seem to be imparting any wisdom, however limited, to Arlo. There's nothing she can do though.

Her father had taught her chess when she was very little. There were pawns, numerous and weak, and there were the powerful pieces.

"Pawns are sacrificed to save the more important pieces," he explained after she'd cried, refusing to give up her tiny pieces. They reminded her of herself. They were children, and she didn't understand why the strong pieces didn't save the weak ones.

"That's simply the way it is," he told her sadly. "Sacrifices must be made."

Watching Mr. Abernathy, Madge knows he sees her as one of his important pieces, not the weak little pawn she knows herself to be. He's going to sacrifice Arlo, whether he deserves to be or not, because Madge is his coveted piece in the Game, there will be no changing his mind, no matter what she says.

That doesn't mean she can't try.

"Please give him some advice," she pleads, taking Mr. Abernathy's hand and giving him her most pitiful look, which isn't hard considering the circumstances.

He stares at her for a moment, chewing on a piece of jerky, before he sighs.

"If he'd show a little fight-"

"No," she shakes her head. "Mr. Abernathy, you can't play favorites."

His eyebrows rise. "Oh, can't I?" He takes another bite of jerky, and grins at her. "This is _my_ part of the Game, sweetheart. I'll play it however I want. And I want to play it for_ you_ to win."

"Won't you feel a little badly about it?" She frowns. "Letting him go in without any preparation?"

Mr. Abernathy shakes his head. "Appealing to my conscience, huh, Pearl?" He snorts. "Don't bother. I don't have one. I haven't felt much of anything with any of the others, so why would I start now?"

Madge starts to snap at him, tell him he does so have a conscience, she's seen the good in him her whole life, but he turns his back to her, closing the conversation.

He walks away, over to the side of the building, looking out and over at the city stretching out around them, dashing all the fragile hope Madge had built up over getting Arlo a little attention. Mr. Abernathy won't be swayed, and all Madge can cling to is that Arlo will either have some amazingly impressive skill, earning himself a high score, or he'll have a quick, painless death. Miserable choices if she ever heard them.

With that happy thought in her head, Madge picks the petals off the flower, letting them float off in the breeze as she plays a game of 'they miss me, they miss me not', ending on the expected 'miss me not'.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Ms. Trinket's voice cuts through the sudden quiet of the roof. Her makeup could do with a touch up and her wig is off-center, though Madge assumes that could be from the wind. "It's almost dinner."

Mr. Abernathy holds up his wrist, and for a second Madge thinks he's going to make a rude gesture, but instead he points at his watch. "I can tell time too, _darling_."

Ms. Trinket straightens her wig and glares at him. "I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to Magdalene." Her mouth becomes a line. "You can starve."

With that she stomps off.

"Just for that I'll eat twice as much," Mr. Abernathy mutters.

Dinner is quiet except for Ms. Trinket's constant chatter. She tells them about the splash their outfits made and how photogenic they were, though she only looks at Madge when she says the last part. Arlo doesn't seem to care, he just wants to eat.

Mr. Abernathy listens, despite the appearance of completely ignoring every word out of her mouth.

When he hears something he likes his eyes shine, and when he hears something he doesn't like-Ms. Trinket's compliments to Madge on her looks for example-they darken.

"I'm getting you out of there on your brains, not your breasts, kiddo," he tells her the next morning before training.

Madge feels her face heat up. She never wants to hear the word 'breasts' come out of his mouth again.

"They're pretty focused on the visual," Madge points out. Most winning Tributes are decent looking enough, and they're gorgeous once the Capitol doctor's get through with them.

She shudders to think what they would do to her if she won. She has guesses and conjectures, but the lives of Victors are mysteries. No one believes the Capitol's shiny magazines that paint them as happy and healthy, and Madge isn't sure she wants to find out the truth behind the touched up photos.

"Not all of them," he tells her cryptically before sending her down to training.

#######

The second day isn't as hard.

The Careers have picked their spots, almost all fighting stations, leaving the survival stations more or less open. Madge and the others flit around, not speaking except for the occasional 'excuse me' or 'sorry', which seems ridiculous considering in two days they'll be trying to murder one another.

Madge studies them, learning their little habits and things about them, even though she knows it's a bad idea. It'll make it harder when they die.

There's the boy from Three's habit of taking everything he comes into contact with apart, which gets him in trouble with Atala on the first day. The girl from Eleven, named Rue, is a much better climber than Madge could ever hope to be, and she likes to whistle to herself. Her partner, a giant of a boy named Thresh, is too soft hearted for the Games. He might've been asked to join the Careers, but Madge gets the impression he's more a creator than a destroyer. Madge thinks he'll avoid fighting until the end, or until his tiny partner's life is threatened, whichever comes first.

It's the boy from One, though, that sticks in her mind.

He's good with a spear, not great, but good. Madge spends all of ten minutes practicing beside him, finding that while she isn't accurate, she does have a good arm for distance.

"What good is that going to do you, _Princess_?" He hisses.

After that, Madge had watches him a little more closely. He stays with his fellow Careers, but he's constantly doing little things off by himself. Marvel, which is just as silly a name as his partner Glimmer's, is a creature of habit, and if the other Careers do something that doesn't fall into his stone set routine, he doesn't follow.

He also steals food off their trays when they aren't looking, and Madge thinks that'll be the thing that ends up getting him killed. Greediness.

"What's the plan for tomorrow?" Mr. Abernathy asks Madge after dinner as they sit on the roof and watch the painted people fluttering about below them.

Madge shrugs. She has no idea. So far she has absolutely nothing interesting to show them. No skills that will wow them.

"I guess I can climb a tree…start a fire…throw a spear?"

He nods at each thought. Finally, he looks at her, his skin a little pale. "Don't worry so much about the score. Some Tributes get low scores deliberately to throw the competition."

Try as she might, Madge can't stop herself from laughing. "I'm not throwing the competition. I really will earn a low score."

"They don't know that though," is all he says.

Madge plucks up her courage and takes a deep breath. "Have you talked to Arlo?"

He doesn't look at her, just keeps his eyes on the pink horizon, answering her question without a word.

Stomach twisting uncomfortably, Madge bites her lip. "Please-"

"No." Mr. Abernathy's eyes cut over to her, then back to the sky. "I made my choice, Pearl. I'll live with it."

"You want me to live with it too, though." Tears spring to her eyes instantly and she swats them away.

Before she can turn and leave him, let her frustrated tears fall in the privacy of her room, he grabs her and pulls her into a crushing hug.

"Too damn soft hearted," he mutters into her hair as he gently rubs soothing circles on her back, easing the hiccups her crying had stirred up.

"That's w-why I shouldn't win," she stammers into his shoulder.

Pulling back, he takes her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him, the light from the dying sun catching in his eyes. "You'll learn, kid. I'll help you."

A little more gently, he pulls her back into the hug, shushing her softly, his voice vibrating through his chest.

"Don't worry about the boy. He's on me, not you, understand?"

When she doesn't nod, doesn't acknowledge what he's said, he tightens his hug, letting his cheek rest against her hair. "Madge. He's on my head. It has nothing to do with you. If you were some other girl I'd be letting them both down, understand?"

There's an edge of disappointment in his voice. He knows he's been a failure as a Mentor and that Madge's Reaping is the only thing spurring him into action. When Madge tilts her head, peaks up at him and sees the disgust in his eyes, she buries her face in his chest and nods.

She tries to comfort herself with the thought that despite his efforts, he's still not going to be bringing a Tribute home. Arlo and Madge will be equal in their failure even with Mr. Abernathy's help.

It breaks Madge's heart, that he's going to put so much effort into her, and she's still going to die. He's actually trying, and the outcome won't change.

Wishing she could make him promise not to her inevitable death too hard, but knowing it's a futile thing to want, she tightens her arms around him.

He's picked a pawn to protect, and it's going to be the death of him.

#######

Arlo doesn't even look at her the next day, not until they're the last two sitting in the dining area waiting for their names to be called.

He doesn't say anything, not even when Madge softly wishes him good luck, but he does give her the faintest of smiles. Although she thinks that might just be a side effect of one of the bugs he'd eaten in the identification station.

Pacing the floor, Madge waits for her name while silently praying Arlo has some hidden talent that will cause Mr. Abernathy to give him at least a little attention.

It's only ten minutes, but it feels like an eternity, and when they call her name she nearly trips over her own leaden feet as the walks into the room.

She's barely crossed into the room when she realizes her lack of skills won't be her only problem.

They're drunk, or at the very least tipsy, more interested in the piles of half eaten food than watching the twenty-fourth Tribute try to 'wow' them with a mediocre show.

Standing at the center of the room, Madge watches them laugh and talk amongst themselves for a minute or two before sighing. Mr. Abernathy's voice echoes in her mind 'use your head, Pearl, stay alive'.

She considers boxing, her father had taught her well, but she'd rather not get within strangling range of any of the other Tributes and punching a bag isn't as impressive as sparing with an opponent.

No boxing.

"Excuse me," she says softly.

When they don't so much as look out at her, Madge clears her throat.

"Excuse me!"

A few of them look at her, noses up in annoyance at having her interrupt their meal.

"I was just wondering, what wine have you paired with your pig?"

That gets their attention.

"Oh," one of them, a man with a rotund belly straining to escape his smock shirt smiles indulgently. "A nice red one. Bit fruity, with a hint of pepper to it."

Madge nods and smiles. "Syrah?"

She really is only guessing. When she was younger her father had made her learn wine listings for when the Capitol guests came and most of that knowledge has leaked out her ears over the past few years as few guests came to visit.

"It makes them think you're one of them," he'd told her.

"I don't wanna be one of them," Madge had nearly cried.

Her father had simply chuckled. "I said make them _think_ it, Pearl."

The Gamemakers are clearly impressed with her perceived knowledge of one of the staples of their lives.

"Your father is the Mayor of Twelve, isn't he?" Another man asks, forkful of some greasy looking substance halfway to his mouth.

Madge nods, a knot forming in her stomach.

She spots a woman and gives her a warm smile. "I love your dress, ma'am." Madge makes a forlorn expression and sighs. "I wish _we_ could have such nice things in Twelve."

The women titter and make upset noises.

"Oh you poor thing!"

"-clearly smarter than you'd expect isn't she-"

"Such good taste for someone from _Twelve_!"

They chit-chat idly with her for several minutes, offering her sips of wine to try with bits of their roast pig so that she can truly appreciate the flavors mingling and telling her about all the newest fashions for the upcoming season.

By the end of her session, which lasts for nearing twenty minutes, they're all exceedingly fond of her, one of the elderly women even invites her to stay in her family's hotel when she returns to the Capitol.

"If I come back," Madge reminds her with a small, forced smile. "There's still a Game to be won."

"With a mind like yours it'll be a cake stomp," the man with the belly assures her.

Madge isn't sure what a cake stomp is, but since cakes don't put up much of a fight-unlike her opponents, she supposes it means easy.

Their faith, strangely, does little to boost her spirits, and she slumps in the elevator, ready to cry herself to sleep the minute she gets to her room.

When the door opens and Madge starts to bolt off, she nearly collides with someone getting on.

"Watch it, missy!"

The girl, a little shorter than Madge, with mossy colored hair that matches her clothing and makeup perfectly, shoots Madge a scrutinizing look.

"Oh, it's our little 'Diamond Girl'." She doesn't seem annoyed, just amused. Her green smile widens as she takes Madge in, reaching out and flicking a droplet of sweat from Madge's shoulder. "Live up to your name, don't you?"

With a little wink, she brushes past her, into the elevator, waving goodbye as she presses one of the buttons.

"How'd it go?" Madge hears Mr. Abernathy from over her shoulder, stealing her attention from the strange girl.

Tears, which had evaporated in her confusion, suddenly start to build back up, but she fights them off. "Okay I guess."

He nods absently, scratching his face and grunting.

Trying to forget that she only talked her way through her private session, Madge looks back at the elevator, which has stopped on Ten. "Who was that?"

Again, Mr. Abernathy grunts unintelligibly, and Madge gets the impression he doesn't want to talk about it.

"What'd you do for your session?" He prods again, diverting her from her own question.

If he isn't being forthcoming, then she doesn't feel like being so either. Shrugging, she walks past him down the hall and to her room for a good long cry.

#######

The score show isn't mandatory viewing, but Gale hurries home from the forest anyway.

He wants, _needs_, to see what score Madge has earned.

"Hopefully she has some hidden talent," Katniss says once they're back inside the fence.

Gale does too, but he has the sinking feeling Madge Undersee's secret talents begin and end with piano keys.

Scrubbing as well as he can, he changes clothes and shovels down what his mother has made of his days catch before flopping onto the couch and turning on the television.

"You're watching?" His mother asks, her brow wrinkled up. Gale normally avoids anything to do with the Games that isn't required viewing.

"Yeah," he grunts.

Vick plops down in front of the couch and Rory flops next to Gale, glancing over at him. "What'd'ya think she's gonna get?"

Gale ignores him and turns the television up.

The anthem blares and some of the idiots, former Victors, begin talking, discussing the preliminary bets and other things Gale has no interest in hearing about. Then the scores begin.

Careers always score fairly well, and this year's bunch hold the trend. The tiny girl from Eleven gets a seven, which is surprising, and her partner, a giant boy, earns and impressive eight. Arlo gets a six, fairly good for a Tribute from Twelve. Then Madge's name and picture pop up.

They twitter on about her, calling her by some stupid nickname they must think is clever, 'Diamond Girl', before finally announcing her score.

An eight.

It's much higher than Gale expected. Not high enough to garner her scorn from the Careers, but just high enough to get her more attention from the Sponsors. Between this and her appearance in the Parade, she'll be well stocked, Gale is sure of it.

"What did she do?" Rory frowns at the television, flabbergasted by the number being shown with Madge's name.

Gale ignores him and turns up the television again.

They start with talking to the Gamemakers, all obnoxiously tight lipped about what each Tribute could've possibly done to earn their scores. Then they move on to a panel of fresh Victors.

There's a horrible man from One, so old Gale is certain his Games are long forgotten by everyone but himself, a dark haired, dark eyed man from Four with a plastered on smile, and a woman, a little older than Gale, dressed from head to toe in deep green.

"Do you think she knows how to use a sword?" Rory asks as Gale tries to hear what the old man's predictions are for the Games.

It's such a ridiculous question Gale can't help but look at his brother. "No."

"Maybe she learned," Vick pops in.

"You can't learn something like that that quickly, Vick," Rory tells him snottily, despite the fact that the sword was his idea. He turns back to Gale. "Maybe she can use a bow. Katniss might've taught her."

Katniss hadn't, Gale knows this for a fact. He would know.

"No." He snaps. "Now be quiet so I can hear their predictions."

The man has stopped talking, been cut off by the girl in green, and he doesn't appear happy about it.

"Iridi, you favor your own District too much," she laughs. "I like my own as much as the next Victor, but I'm not about to lose money on them."

"You can't bet!" The man, Iridi, sputters.

The girl simply smiles, winking at the camera cheekily.

"If you could," the moderator tries to get a handle on the situation, "who would you bet on?"

Her expression flickers, just for a second, so quick Gale almost misses it, an undecided, almost worried look that vanishes the second she turns back to the camera.

"Well, as I consider One and Two nothing short of abominations, I must disrespectfully disagree with Iridi. They're pretty faces, and not even the prettiest to fall into the Arena in the last few years, nothing more. If they can string two words into a coherent sentence during their interviews I might die of shock."

"Let's hope they recite Shakespeare then!" Iridi snaps.

"Going to help them memorize the Bard just to watch me die, Iri?" She throws her head back and laughs. "Good luck. They look duller than dishwater, though I'd wager dishwater has less filth floating in it."

Things dissolve from there as they try to determine what the Tributes could've done to earn their scores, which amounts to Iridi and the girl, whose name turns out to be Phoebe, insulting one another in increasingly less pleasant ways, leading to a cut to commercials.

Gale clicks the television off and listens to his brothers dissect what each of the Victors had said, though he finds their commentary anything but useful. It almost seems like the girl was being deliberately unhelpful, and that puzzles Gale.

Not answering any of his brothers' ridiculous questions, and ignoring Posy's pleas for him to play with her, he stomps off to bed, hoping his dreams will be a little less restless now that he knows Madge apparently has some skill to protect her.

#######

"What should I talk about?"

Mr. Abernathy hands her a cup of water, he seems dead set on drowning her. Everytime they're together he wants her to drink. She doesn't question it. There'll be precious little water once she's in the Arena.

"We're going for mysterious," he says. "We want to make them _want _to know more about you."

"But I don't want them to know more about me," she frowns. "And there's nothing to know about me anyway."

She's got no friends, Katniss' failure to show up to tell her goodbye confirmed that. Peeta's visit was pity, she's certain of that. Her father is the Mayor, which makes her life as predictable as the sun. Certain and necessary, but not very spectacular.

Then there was her mother.

Madge shudders to think what will come of her poor mother in the unlikely event that Madge is able to survive to the Final Eight.

"Then they'll be sorely surprised," is all Mr. Abernathy says to that.

He gives her some talking points, tells her to avoid politics-it would be bad for her father and boring to the audience anyway-and to show them she's clever.

"What good will that do?" No one in the Capitol is particularly interested in intelligence as far as she's ever been able to tell.

"What you see isn't always what you get," he answers. "Just 'cause they all seem like brainless butterflies, doesn't mean there isn't a well disguised few out there."

Ms. Trinket has far less wisdom to impart on her.

"You already have such lovely manners," she tells Madge. "And you hold yourself to well. Oh! My work is almost done."

She gives Madge some pointers on smiling, laughing, keeping eye contact with the cameras, things Madge already has a lifetime of knowledge about, before releasing her early for dinner.

The next day begins with another round of lotions, and Madge is sure floor eleven can smell her perfumed hair and skin through the floor.

Cicero and Lucius do her nails, shimmering silver and white, while Anthea does her hair, down this time. She weaves not dark and light this time, but fixes tiny diamonds into every layer of Madge's hair. Each turn of her head catches the light, giving the impression that she herself is a freshly cut stone soon to be sold at the jeweler.

They finish by coating her with glittering diamond dust, right before they dance off, leaving her for Portia to dress.

"You look magnificent," Portia says the moment she steps through the door, a dark bag draped over her arm.

Despite the sick feeling in her stomach, her meager lunch threatening to make a reappearance, Madge smiles weakly. She wants to like Portia, she really does, but at the end of the day, she exists to dress a meal for the Capitol and that puts a chill on the relationship that Madge can't defrost.

Carefully, Portia sets the garment bag down, and pulls out a black box.

Her shoes are crystalline, and at first she worries she'll break them and cut her foot, but Portia assures her they won't so much as crack.

"I won't let you get hurt," she tells Madge.

If only that were true.

She certainly is putting in a good effort, though, despite Madge's continued uneasiness about her.

Madge's dress is a shining masterpiece. It's covered in diamonds, more than her first, in more elaborate patterns and varying cuts. They catch the light with each turn, casting her in a starlight glow.

"No longer a diamond in the rough, are we?" Portia smiles as she readjusts the neckline, which she mutters 'will upset Haymitch'.

She takes Madge's face in her hands and forces her to look into her eyes, an unsettling purple color. Her expression is stern.

"Be brave," is all she says before she lets her hands drop and heads to the door.

#######

Arlo's suit is similar, complimentary, but not identical. It almost reminds Madge of men in the movies sometimes shown late at night on the Capitol's lower programming channels. He might be going to a fancy dinner as opposed to the last friendly moment of his life.

Ms. Trinket trills over Madge's outfit, giving her a hug and almost crying over her.

Mr. Abernathy is a little more subdued.

"I told her not to-" He gestures to her dress while keeping his eyes on the floor, apparently loath to look at it.

Madge snorts and he looks up, his face a little darker than usual.

"Don't snort on television."

"I'll try and remember," she chuckles as he points her at the elevator.

#######

Gale can't tear his eyes off the screen once Madge steps on stage, and he's certain no one else can either.

The stage is flooded with light, but Madge is in a dizzying, diamond studded dress that makes her outshine all the others. They're dull and limp, lifeless dolls compared to her.

He's certain some of it is Capitol magic, the way her skin glows is unnatural and her hair had never been that blonde before, but he feels like there's more to it than that. She's not just pretty, not even simply beautiful, she's luminous, even without the Capitol's eyes on her.

All the heat from the endless lights and the pressure from the cameras, the audience, the impending doom, have turned the soft spoken daughter of District Twelve's Mayor into a glittering diamond, and the Capitol is noticing right alongside Gale.

Her smile is fake, well practiced, but when he looks closely, and he does-following Mellark's advice to _really _look at her-Gale sees that it isn't real. Gale has seen it enough times, but he's never realized it before. Something about the lights, the way her eyes flicker with fear when she first is captured by the camera, make it clear to him, it isn't genuine.

The Madge on the stage is playing a part every bit as much as the one that had joked about going to the Capitol with him, even if he hadn't known it at the time. He feels like a fool for having never noticed it.

It's only her outside that's changed. Inside, she's still the girl he sold strawberries to only days before. Silently, he hopes that her shimmering exterior really is diamond hard, that it's enough to protect her from what waits ahead of her.

Each Tribute tries to garner the attention of the Capitol, and the ones from One and Two make a good show of it, but when Madge steps up, with her glass slippers and gentle, unearthly glow, they're quickly forgotten, at least for Gale.

"How are you enjoying your time here in the Capitol, Miss Undersee?"

"Oh, Caesar, please, call me Magdalene," she giggles, very unlike herself, earning a round of whoops from the crowd. "And I'm having just a wonderful time. You can't imagine what kind of dream this is for me."

Gale almost laughs. A nightmare is a dream too, isn't it?

Flickerman pats her hand in a fatherly sort of way, missing the possible meaning of her words. "Now, dear, your father is the Mayor of Twelve, isn't that right?"

Madge nods, her eyes a little too wide and her smile, lips pale and glittering too, droops a bit.

"That must make this a special treat, am I right?"

She looks out at the audience, giving them an adoring smile, then turns back to Flickerman.

"Absolutely, Caesar. To see this place, which is almost legendary, a myth to those of us in the outer districts, is…overwhelming." She presses her hands to her heart and the crowd coos. "I'm so happy I get to see it, no matter how it came about."

The crowd interrupts again, someone throws a bundle of gardenias onto the stage and Madge gets up, gracefully, and retrieves them. She waves out at them before burying her face in the flowers and inhaling deeply.

Waving again, she floats back to her seat, giving Caesar another winning smile.

"Your parents must be so proud, having a daughter in the Games."

Gale thinks of Madge's father. He hasn't been out much since her Reaping, and when Gale went by with an offering of strawberries with Katniss, no one had answered the door.

Katniss' mother had tried to go by to see Mrs. Undersee, they were childhood friends it seemed, but she hadn't gotten very far.

"The housekeeper told me she was too ill to see anyone," she told Gale and Katniss when she got home, just before dark the night after the Reaping. "I can't imagine. Losing two family members to the Games."

It had annoyed Gale, hearing Mrs. Everdeen talking as if Madge were already dead, even though he knew, for all intents and purposes, she was. It was Rory all over again.

"I'm sure they're as proud as they can be," Madge tells him diplomatically.

Gale huffs again. If her parents are proud of anything it isn't over the fact that their only child is about to die, it's that she's still got her head held high. She's playing the Game just like Mellark had said, and probably garnering Twelve the first bit of positive attention it's had in decades.

"So tell me Magdalene," Caesar leans in conspiratorially, "how is your boyfriend back home?"

For the first time since she came on stage Madge looks wrong footed. Her nose scrunches up and her expression drops, smile vanishing from her glittering lips and eyelids.

"What boyfriend?"

Hooting with laughter, Flickerman turns to the audience. "Hear that everyone? She's single!"

Gale feels his heart stop dead in his chest.

He watches as the camera pans over the packed streets, at the hungry eyes of the Capitolites as they watch Madge, and his blood boils.

They're sizing her up, planning what they'll do with her if she wins, like a piece of meat at the butcher. Gale isn't sure what becomes of the Tributes once they become Victors, when they're in the Capitol, he's only ever seen Haymitch Abernathy and he's a drunk, but if the looks, the desire and sickening want etched in every feature of the audience is any indication of what might be in the newest Victor's future, he doesn't wish it on anyone. Least of all Madge.

The momentary lapse, the confusion Flickerman's question had caused her, has vanished by the time the camera sweeps back to her. She's smiling again, giving the host a good-natured wag of her finger.

Flickerman takes her hand, giving it a kiss before pulling her to her feet.

"There you have her ladies and gentlemen, Miss Magdalene Undersee, our Diamond Girl from District Twelve!"

#######

"I think she did really well," Mellark says when the viewing ends and the crowd disperses.

Gale's never thought he'd be happy to talk to Peeta Mellark, a boy so bland he'd never even registered with Gale before the Reaping, but he seems to be one of the few people in the District that has any faith in Madge. One of the few that sees what Gale sees-not a girl sucked into the Capitol ways, but a girl already fighting for her life.

"She played it up," Gale adds.

"Caesar caught her off guard though, did you see that?" Mellark asks, his eyes somber as he scans the group.

Katniss nods, chewing the inside of her mouth. Gale thinks she might be trying to guess where Mellark's question is leading, but she doesn't seem to be following his thread.

Prim frowns. "Seemed like a silly question."

Mellark's expression darkens and he looks away, and Gale knows that even if Katniss and Prim hadn't caught the implication of Flickerman's words, their new accessory had.

It makes Gale's stomach turn a little, because if Mellark picked up on the real meaning behind the question, then it wasn't just Gale's overactive imagination.

"There's more to it than just her having a boyfriend or not," Mellark starts carefully, looking between Katniss and Prim. "It was a gage, I think."

Gale's stomach lurches again. The faces, the eager looks on so many, fill his head. She's an unbroken toy for them to play with, and they're eagerly anticipating breaking her in.

A heaviness settles over Gale's chest as he looks back at the blank screen and wonders if not coming home might be the only lucky thing to come Madge Undersee's way since her Reaping.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

**A World Apart, pt 4**

AN: Thanks as always to FortuneFaded2012 for the beta.

#######

As hard as she tries, Madge can't sleep. The impending start of the Games, her short future, all the things she wishes she could've said hang over her head as she tosses and turns in the too soft Capitol bed.

Frustrated, her last night of sleep, probably ever, is quickly slipping through her fingers, Madge gets up and stares out her window.

It looks cool out and the traffic has let up some on the streets below.

Deciding that some night air might do her some good, Madge quietly leaves her room, tiptoes on bare feet down the hall, then up the stairs to the roof.

When the door opens heavy, warm air lazily drifts in, carrying the scent of flowers with it and, strangely, voices. She starts to turn back, they hadn't told her the roof was off limits, that doesn't mean anything though, but she stops when she catches her name whispered in a low tone.

Crouching down, Madge creeps out, keeping out of sight of whoever is talking, until she's close enough to hear snatches of the conversation.

It's Mr. Abernathy, pacing back and forth, muttering too quietly for Madge to hear completely, but she hears her name again and instantly knows this is his 'taking care' of things.

The girl that Madge had run into the day of her scoring is there, sitting cross-legged on the ledge plucking a flower apart, her green hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

Another woman, platinum hair and violently red lips, is standing with her arms crossed, nodding occasionally at whatever Mr. Abernathy is saying.

"I did the best I could," the girl in green says, when Mr. Abernathy stops abruptly in front of her, glaring. "Swaying people isn't as easy as you think, especially for me. This is the first year I've been back since the Mason debacle. They're watching me. I have to be careful."

She crosses her arms over her chest and holds his glare. "Picking on old Iridi and pointing out what inbreed mutts the Ones and Twos are was the absolute most I could do under the circumstances. It would seem a little suspicious if I started praising your little girlfriend."

Mr. Abernathy starts to say something to that, but the girl pushes herself off the ledge, her heels clicking harshly on the stone of the roof as they hit.

"If you want to play up your own Tributes then stop drinking and make yourself presentable for television, Mr. Haymitch," she snaps. "I can only do so much."

The blonde catches her by the elbow before she can storm off, shakes her voluminous curls and smiles sadly. She turns her gaze from the green girl, back to Mr. Abernathy, and sighs as she lets the girl's elbow drop.

"It's hard, I know, to have someone you care about being sent into the Games, but getting mad at us isn't going to help you." She reaches out and pats his shoulder. Her heels click as she takes a few steps, leans in and presses a kiss to his stubble covered cheek. "We're doing all we can, you just focus on what you can do, the rest is out of our hands."

With that she turns and clicks away on her heels, the green girl trailing behind her.

Madge thinks she's well concealed, but as the two strangers start down the stairs, the girl in green turns. She smiles, her eyes holding Madge's terrified look for a moment before winking at her and turning away.

Frozen, Madge just stares at the empty air by the steps leading down to the door the girl had disappeared down, confused and worried. Mr. Abernathy's voice pulls her from her thoughts quickly though. "Couldn't sleep, huh kid?"

Cursing herself, she must've made more noise than she realized when she came up, Madge stands up, brushing dirt from her nightgown.

Mr. Abernathy mouth turns up at the corners, just enough to be called a smile, and waves her over to him, near the wall at the edge of the roof.

He doesn't say anything, just turns and leans on the ledge, staring out at the neon city below.

"What were you talking about?" She knows it has something to do with her. The girls were Victors, she could guess that, but how cavorting with them is going to help anyone, Madge included, is beyond her.

"Nothing." He waves his hand, brushing away her question. "Don't worry about it."

Madge watches him. She feels her mouth settle into a line of worry. "I will if you're going to do something dangerous."

His chuckle is dark, mirthless, as he tilts his head to look at her. "Breathing is dangerous here, Pearl."

Reaching out, he pushes a loose strand of hair off her shoulder, tucks it behind her ear and sighs. His hand settles on her shoulder, heavy and warm, and he studies her for a long moment, memorizing her.

"Promise me you'll fight," he says suddenly. "Don't worry about the Sponsors and the Gifts. I'm going to use them sparingly. You don't need them breathing down you back when you get back. You don't need to owe them anything, understand? Promise me you'll use your head, think, stay alive."

She expects his voice to break, thick as it sounds, but he holds it together, holds her in his steady gaze and squeezes her shoulder, willing her to promise him.

"I…" Words die in her mouth, turn to sand and glass. She doesn't want to promise him anything, because she doesn't want to be held to that, have it hanging over her head once she's in the Arena and on the edge of oblivion. She wants a clear conscience when she dies.

He's so worn though, there's so much desperation in his eyes, in the way he's gripping her shoulder, that she can't break him. Even if she knows she'll do so eventually.

Voice still frozen, she just nods.

It's enough for him. A bleak look, an almost smile, once again forms on his lips. He pulls her into a crushing hug.

"You do your part, I'll take care of the rest," he whispers into her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, sealing his own promise.

Nodding again, Madge blinks back tears and tightens her hug. This is the last one she'll ever get; she wants it imprinted into her mind. She takes a deep breath, inhales soap and tobacco smoke from his clothes, no alcohol this time, and she wonders how long after her death he'll last before he drowns in a bottle again.

Pushing the thought away, she soaks in his warmth, one last happy memory before the cold of death.

#######

Portia, not Mr. Abernathy, retrieves her from the last hour of her restless sleep the next morning.

It's a blur, the ladder that pulls her, completely immobilized, onto the hovercraft, the tracker being injected, the endless breakfast that she can't touch…

It isn't until the windows of the hovercraft go dark, letting her know the end is near, that she seems to truly wake.

"They call it the Stockyard in the Districts, don't they?" Portia asks, violet eyes sweeping over the room. She's new, she's never seen it before.

Madge nods.

Not in Ten though. Her father had told her once they call it the Chute there.

It's like the fenced races, curved to blind the poor creature to what's ahead, to direct the animals from the stockyards. The Arena is the Slaughter house.

Madge thinks their terms are a little more appropriate.

Portia retrieves Madge's final set of clothes, opens the package and gestures for her to get cleaned up.

The shower stings, but as it's the last she knows she'll ever have, she stretches it out.

Her dinner, the only thing in her stomach, fights to make a reappearance while Portia helps her dress, but she manages to keep it down, only tasting the acid in the back of her throat.

Once she's dressed, trembling slightly, she drops onto one of the chairs and toys with the zipper on the coat. She only looks up when Portia holds out something small and round to her.

Confused, Madge reaches out and is surprised to find her pin. She'd forgotten she'd even been wearing it.

"Haymitch gave it to me," Portia explains when she spots Madge's puzzled look. "He said it's your district token."

Nodding dumbly, Madge carefully unlatches it and pins it to her shirt, hidden under her coat.

Maybe it'll be a comfort to her mother, if nothing else.

They sit in silence, the cold of the room making Madge's hands numb. She eyes the last of the food, cups of water, but her stomach turns and she decides against it.

Closing her eyes, Madge imagines the people of Twelve, corralled in the Square, waiting and watching the screen. Waiting to watch her die.

She feels tears start to build up, but swallows them down.

Will anyone care when she dies? Will anyone spare her parents a kind thought or word?

She doubts it. Her mind creates a party, miners and kids from school, drinking weak beer and laughing, reveling in the fact that only one of their children died this year. The men who take bets might even have taken up money, wagers on whether it will be minutes or seconds, before the Mayor's useless daughter dies?

Maybe Gale will be happy for once. He probably thinks it's funny, a brilliant cosmic joke, that she's going to die for his entertainment.

Her stomach churns again and she presses her eyes closed, angry when a few tears still manage to sneak out, and brushes them away before Portia can see. She won't be weak, this is the last time she'll have to be brave, or at least appear to be, she won't go into the Arena with tear stains on her cheeks.

It takes an eternity, a long stretch of empty quiet filled with bitter thoughts and fantasies of a life she'll never have, but a chilly voice, a woman, finally announces that the launch is near.

Hands clenched so tight that her knuckles are white, Madge slowly crosses the room and steps onto the circular plate, straightens her back and raises her chin. She'll go out with her head held high.

Portia's unsettling purple eyes focus on Madge and she raises her chin a fraction too, smiles. "Be brave."

With that a glass cylinder lowers, cutting them off.

Stumbling slightly when the cylinder begins to rise, Madge quickly steadies herself, blinks as darkness engulfs her.

Then there's nothing but light, brilliant and blinding, from the sun overhead.

Blinking to clear her vision, Madge quickly looks around, careful not to step from her plate.

It's a forest, tall trees, not so unlike the forest around Twelve, surrounds her. Not that that's much help, she's never set foot in the thick wilds around her home district. She might as well be on the beach.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!"

The countdown begins, sixty painfully long seconds, and Madge uses the time to check her surroundings a little more closely.

The Cornucopia is off limits, the Careers will take it and kill anyone foolish enough to try for anything setting in its mouth, so she tilts her head and looks around.

Behind her are trees, and if she runs quick enough, she might be able to snatch up a few of the less tantalizing prizes strewn about between her current position and safety. That, she quickly decides, is her choice.

Turning again, she spots Arlo, poised to run at the Cornucopia. She tries to get his attention, but he's got his hungry eyes on a sword, near enough to him that he might be able to reach it, but far enough in that he'll be dead before he can put it to use.

She shakes her head at him, but he continues to ignore her.

"Three…Two…" Madge takes a breath. "…One."

The gong rings and Madge spins, sprinting off to the forest, not even stopping when she scoops up a few packs of who knows what from the ground.

She doesn't turn when the screaming starts, she doesn't slow when she hears crying, her legs refuse to stop, a basic instinct, survival, has kicked in, and she still isn't sure if she's happy about that or not.

#######

Gale doesn't even realize he's holding his breath until Mellark gives him a funny look.

"Breath," he mouths the word, causing Gale's brain to turn back on and forcing a hot breath down into his chest.

He quickly looks back up at the screen. Madge is shown occasionally, sweaty and running, but the bloodbath dominates most of the viewing. Arlo is gone already, flayed by the girl from Two as he stupidly went for a sword.

Madge is still alive though, and that's all that matters to Gale at the moment.

She'd made a smart move, ran from the Cornucopia, and certain death, the minute she could step off her metal circle. Despite that, she'd still managed to grab a couple of packs, though Gale doubts they'll be as useful as the ones the Careers have collected. At least she has _something._

Her stamina impresses him. She runs for a good hour before slowing to a jog, then as night falls, she walks.

It's pretty clear she's exhausted, thirsty and hungry, but she still manages to climb a tree.

"I told you she'd climb!" Vick says, his voice a cheerful whisper and his eyes bright as Madge settles into an unfamiliar looking tree.

Gale shushes him as the Anthem plays and the Capitol's seal appears on the screen.

Twelve faces are shown, half the Tributes are dead.

"She made it through," Katniss whispers, more to herself than anyone else.

Mellark nods, but doesn't look as at ease as she does, and Gale has a pretty good idea why.

Madge survived getting murdered by her fellow Tributes, but they're only part of her problem. She's no Katniss, she's never had to survive on her own. Three warm meals a day and a comfortable bed don't exactly hone a person's survival skills.

Even if she can continue to evade the savages from the Career Districts, the elements are still a looming threat, maybe more so.

"She needs to find water," Gale hears Katniss tell Prim.

"How?" Prim frowns. "The lake is the only water they've shown."

Mellark appears to be listening, but has no answers. He's about as skilled as Madge it seems.

"There are animals," Gale points out, jabbing his finger at the now blank screen. The viewing is over for the night. "If there's animals, there's water."

At least he hopes there is. For all he knows they're small mutts, genetically engineered to not need water. He's never heard of such a thing, but he supposes it's possible.

Chewing his lip, Mellark nods, despite the fact that the anxious look still hangs on his face.

"Madge is smart," he finally says. "She'll figure it out."

Gale feels his stomach clench up at the loss of conviction in Mellark's voice. He's supposed to be annoyingly positive, and if he isn't, who can Gale count on to keep their spirits up?

Despite his somber tone, Mellark forces a smile, looks down at Rory, Vick, and Prim, all still huddled with their siblings. "Madge survived the bloodbath, how about we celebrate?"

#######

At first Gale is against it, it feels a little too much like charity, having Mellark sneak cookies out from under his witch of a mother's nose for the kids, but when he sees the excited smile on Vick's face he can't put his foot down. The kid's been a ball of nerves lately, worried about Madge and arguing with the kids in his class, Gale can't deny him a treat.

"I packed some in here for your sister," Mellark says, handing Gale a brown paper sack.

Opening it, he finds a pink cupcake and a couple of yellow cookies. Despite feeling a bit annoyed, he's already letting the muffin man feed his brothers, he doesn't need him sugaring up his sister too, Gale gives him a curt nod.

"When Madge comes home," Vick starts, biting into a blue cookie, "we should have a party for her. You can make the cake, Peeta."

Instead of telling Vick that Madge is probably going to die of dehydration, starvation, or some combination of the two, Mellark just nods, forces up another smile. "What kind of cake should I make?"

Gale almost rolls his eyes. Why is he stringing them along?

"A white one," Prim suggests. "Can you make little diamonds from sugar?"

"Oh, and add some black, like coal, since they had her in black the first night," Rory adds, despite the fact that he's been saying Madge is doomed from the start.

"I'll get to work on the plans," Mellark chuckles.

When the front door rattles, announcing that the rest of the Mellarks have finally made it back from the cobbler's house, one of Mellark's brothers is apparently dating his youngest daughter, the group quickly rushes out the back door.

Mellark walks with them, almost to the edge of the Seam, trailing with Katniss and Gale behind the chattering kids.

"Katniss, come look at this?" Prim yells from the side of the road as she pushes Rory and Vick away from whatever she's found.

Katniss rolls her eyes. "If this is another bird…"

She jogs off, muttering to herself, and Mellark chuckles.

Gale stands silently by him while they watch Katniss huff and tell Prim that they are not going to take some 'stupid bird' home…again.

Finally, Mellark lets out a long breath and looks over at Gale. His mouth stays even, but his eyes brighten. "Thanks."

Gale scowls. "Thanks?"

Shrugging, Mellark looks back over to where Katniss is. She's carefully helping Prim scoop up the baby bird.

"For letting me give the kids some cookies," he explains. "I know you probably didn't want to, but I'm glad you did. They needed a little bright spot, considering what's coming."

The knot in Gale's stomach tightens again. "What's coming?"

Mellark's eyebrows knit together and he nods, eyes focused on the ground. "With Madge."

And just like that, Mellark crushes Gale's hope. He hadn't realized just how tied to the stupid baker it had been.

"She doesn't know how to survive in the wild," Mellark begins. "Unless the Careers take everyone out, themselves included, and forget about her, she's…"

He looks over at Katniss, now rolling her eyes at Prim cradling the bird.

"She's not a hunter. She's never had to kill, and I don't think she'll start with people."

"People surprise you." Gale frowns, stuffs his hands into his pockets. There's a hole in the bottom of the right one.

Nodding, Mellark smiles sadly. "Yeah, they do." His eyebrows rise. "But do you really see a killer in Madge?"

Gale takes in a long breath, rolling the question around in his mind for a minute.

He doesn't. She looks like the kind of girl that would try to nurse a stupid bird back to health, despite the fact that it's clearly past the point of saving. She looks like the kind of girl that would cry over someone she barely knew. She was Prim and Vick all rolled into one hopelessly kind package, and he can't imagine her fighting for her life.

"She's smart," Gale grunts. "Maybe that's enough."

Despite looking like he wants to disagree, Mellark nods. "Maybe."

He doesn't sound like he believes it though.

#######

Madge wakes the next day, still feeling unrested, and quietly investigates her surroundings. She has to find water.

There's animals, and animals need water she reasons. How much they needed was another question. For all she knew, rabbits and the little ground birds could last on a thimble of dew. She couldn't.

For almost an entire day she stumbles around, certain that she'll be one of the 'deaths by elements' Atala at the training center had warned them about.

She slumps down, beside a tall tree, a pine she thinks, and digs through the backpack she'd found. There's a little cheese, some jerky, matches, and a bone dry canteen. She jiggles it, taunting herself.

The ground is dry, covered in small, needle like leaves from the tree and small, low bushes.

She discovers the mockingjays like to nest in the bushes when she stumbles into one of them after getting tangled in a long, vine like plant.

They fly out, echoing her scream as they vacate the area, and Madge quickly runs for a tree, certain she's just given away her position. No one comes though, maybe she's too far from the main area or maybe they think she's been taken down, injured and will soon die. Either way, she's grateful.

It's as the dark is beginning to fall again, the air is cooling and the sun is setting, that she spots the tracker jacker nest.

The papery looking hive is well concealed in the leaves of Madge's tree, dangling over the open ground like a terrifying chandelier.

There had been one, almost exactly like it, in her backyard in Twelve when she'd been younger. Her father had paid a pair of men to take it down.

That hive had been angry bees, not the deadly tracker jackers, but that didn't matter.

"Bees never make a hive far from water," her father had told her as they'd watched the men set little smoke bombs around the hive, subduing the nest.

Tracker jackers weren't bees, but they had some of the same instincts despite their hybrid nature. They also use more water than normal bees and wasps, they would make their hive near water no matter how artificially they were introduced to the Arena. She just has to find it.

Smiling to herself, and for the camera if it happened to be on her, Madge crawls down from her perch and begins her search, rejuvenated at the prospect of finding water and not dying of dehydration.

She just barely beats the encroaching dark to find her savior, a small stream. Before the last light fades she fills her canteen, purifies it, and drinks until she can't hold anymore.

The tree of tracker jackers is her safe spot, and she decides quickly that it should be her permanent camp, at least until the Careers find her that is.

Following her own path back to the tree, she clambers up it, settling down into a crevice at the junction between the trunk and a large branch, securing herself with her belt. She eyes the hive, gray and ominous, from where she sits and smiles as they calmly buzz in and out, settling down with the sinking of the sun.

"Goodnight," she whispers to them, and to the audience.

#######

Gale feels his eyes drooping down as he watches Madge settle down on her branch. She's getting some sleep, and he supposes he should too, but he keeps jerking awake just as his eyes close, his mind flickering to life with dozens of increasingly horrible possibilities.

The fact that she's now calling a buzzing tracker jacker nest her neighbor does nothing to ease his mind.

_At least she's found water_.

That's what his mind tells him anyway. One necessity down, one to go. She needs food now, her jerky and cheese won't sustain her for the duration of the Games, unless the Careers kill themselves and everyone else out in record time.

He sits up and stares at his family's dining table, the bare counters and cupboards in the kitchen and sighs.

Maybe if he'd have been a little less edgy, more friendly to her, he might've known her well enough to take her into the woods with him. He could've taught her to make snares, maybe Katniss might've been able to teach her the basics of using a bow. Anything that might keep her from starving now.

Running his hand over his face, through his hair, Gale sighs.

There's no going back now, no teaching the Mayor's daughter snares or bows or even how to gut and skin. She's on her own now.

Getting up, he clicks the television off-it's showing the Careers hunting again-and heads to bed.

"'Night, Madge."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

**A World Apart, pt 5**

AN: Thanks as always to FortuneFaded2012 for the beta.

#######

Madge sees the girl from Eight's face shine above her, the thirteenth death, before she drifts off to sleep. She hadn't even heard the cannon fire for her.

When she wakes the next day it's to a loud boom, a cannon, firing, signaling yet another death.

She runs through all the possible choices, hoping it was one of the Careers, but doubting she'll get that lucky. It might've been the Three or the tiny girl from Eleven, but she hopes not.

It's as she's down on the ground, using what knowledge she'd retained from the edible plants station to pick out a supplement to her lunch that she hears the thundering footsteps coming up on her.

In a panic, she scrambles up her tree, nearly losing her footing, but still managing to make it up before they enter her clearing.

How they sneak up on anyone is a mystery, they're louder than a hundred drunken miners dragging picks through the street. They're yelling, excited about something, tossing a canteen of water between them.

"Did you see him trip?" The big blonde from Two, she thinks his name is Cato, snickers as he makes a terrified face and pretends to flail about.

Glimmer, the obnoxious girl from One, laughs, a little too loudly and a little too long, batting her eyes at him. "You're funny."

Madge rolls her eyes. Such witty rapport. They make Madge's search for berries and nuts look positively riveting by comparison.

"You should've let me have him," Marvel grumbles. "I could use the practice."

"You'll get your turn when we catch that boy from Eleven," Cato assures him. "He's too big for us to take on hand to hand. Easier if you do it."

That seems to satisfy Marvel and he twirls his spear in his hand.

"I bet that girl will cry just like ol'one foot did," Cato's partner, Cleaver or Claus, no, _Clove_, laughs coldly. "Bet she'll bawl like a baby."

Cato does another unflattering impression of the boy with a limp, the boy from District Ten that never had a chance, and Madge feels indignation on his behalf flare up in her chest.

It's not enough they had to kill him, but now they keep going at him, picking at him even in death. It isn't fair. It isn't right.

Quietly, Madge inches along her branch, pulling out a jagged knife, the only weapon that had been in her pack, and begins sawing. The Careers are so absorbed in their laughter, their latest kill and the prospect of the next, so loud, they don't hear a thing.

It's stupid and she knows it. The boy from Ten meant nothing to her, she shouldn't risk being caught over him, but then she thinks of Arlo, dead in the bloodbath, probably by the hand of one of the people below her, of the tiny girl from Eleven they want apparently want to suffer and beg for her life before they kill, and cutting the branch doesn't seem so stupid.

Mr. Abernathy might even see it as a smart move. She's showing she's a fighter. She won't go to a fight, but when presented with an opportunity, she snatches it up.

That's what she tells herself anyway.

When the branch is strained, almost ready to snap, Madge pulls out the handful of matches and breaks one off.

With one last heave of the knife, the branch cracks, snaps off, sending the horrible paper chandelier down through the leaves, crunching on the forest floor to the Careers' right.

There's screaming, as Madge strikes her match and lights a small branch she looks down and sees the girl from Four is down, blood oozing from her head. The branch must've hit her.

Before they can notice her, Madge snaps off the now burning limb and uses the smoke to fend off the furious little murderers as she bolts from the tree, across to another sturdy looking branch.

She jumps, tree to tree, dropping her burning branch once she's sure the Careers won't see her, scrambling until she can't hear the yells of the Careers anymore.

Her breathing is labored, painful, and she settles down on as high a branch as she can, hoping that if any of the Careers did try to follow, to find out who had dropped an angry hive of Tracker Jackers on them, they wouldn't be able to see her.

Pulling out her canteen, she takes a small drink. Water will be scarce for her now, at least until she's certain the Careers have abandoned her clearing and the tracker jackers have calmed down.

Her leg is throbbing, and when she looks she finds a barb, a tracker jacker stinger, lodged in her calf.

She pulls it out and winces. The wheal is small considering how long the stinger had been in her leg, and she gently cleans it with a small handful of water. It doesn't help.

Frustrated tears start to spring to her eyes, now she's injured, an easier mark than ever, and there are still so many left in the Game.

Then she hears the cannons. Two of them.

Bile rises up the back of her throat.

She's killed two people, what two she doesn't know exactly, but that doesn't matter.

She's a killer now.

Her leg is numb now, the pain is nothing, just a small reminder that she's alive, whether she likes it or not.

#######

Gale doesn't hear the bell calling them to class after lunch, he's too absorbed in watching the Games.

He stares, dumbfounded, as she saws the branch, sends it and the nest of deadly and angry tracker jackers down on the heads of the Careers before bounding off in a cloud of smoke, like some kind of phantom.

The Careers, the ones that make it away from the swarm, don't know it was her, and Gale presses his fingers to his eyes until he sees stars when he realizes it. They won't track her down, or probably torture her, for the deaths of their comrades. One small mercy.

"I can't believe her," Mellark's voice cuts through the quiet of the cafeteria.

He must've been passing by, maybe on a bathroom break, and saw the television because class is already ten minutes in. Gale doesn't care.

Heavy footsteps plod across the cafeteria tile and the long brightly colored bench creaks as Mellark plops down next to Gale, his eyes never leaving the television.

"Is she stung?"

Gale nods, grunts out, "Just one."

Which is a miracle. He's glad she had the matches and the presence of mind to run before the swarm rose up to her level, if they'd have gotten started on her he doubts she'd have made it far.

They sit in silence, watching Madge grimace and fight off tears from her perch in the tree.

Gale never thought he'd see her so filthy. Her hair is dull, matted and greasy, and he can see a fine layer of dirt settled on her clothes and skin. Normally her eyes are clear and blue, soft, but she's looking increasingly like she's gone on a bender with her mentor. Red, pink, and puffy, her eyes are anything but soft. They're desperate and wild.

She's starting to lose herself, and that worries Gale.

He pushes himself up, he may not care much for class but he doesn't want his mother to get in trouble for his skipping it completely, and starts to leave the cafeteria.

"Class is half over," Mellark points out, jerking his head toward the screen. "Might as well stay."

"You at least made an appearance," Gale scowls, looking back at the screen, which has switched to the Careers again. "Besides, even if it doesn't matter to me, I don't have the luxury of a cushy job when I get out in a few days. Don't tell me you haven't seen how hard they are on kids from the Seam they catch skipping?"

There's a bitterness creeping into his voice even though he only feels a twinge of disappointment. How things are isn't Mellark's fault, anymore than it's Madge's, but old habits die hard. Resentment he's nursed his whole life isn't going to completely fade in a few short days just because he knows the odds are no more in kids from Town's favor than in his.

For his part, Mellark just nods, gives Gale a faint smile before turning back to the television.

Turning, Gale silently heads out, probably to get detention, but stops at the door, looks back at Mellark concentrating on the screen.

"You'll let me know if anything changes, right?"

Slowly, eyes trailing behind at the screen, Mellark tilts his head, glancing back at Gale. He doesn't smile again, just nods. "Sure."

#######

There are no deaths the next day.

The Careers are still licking their wounds after Glimmer and Anemone, the bland District Four girl, were killed by Madge's tracker jackers.

Gale's stomach is in knots. The Capitol is bound to get needy for a kill, or at the very least a death, soon, and Madge isn't completely healed from her sting.

"They're going to start herding them," Katniss says as she picks up her latest kill, a fat rabbit with an arrow through the head. "They're at the final eight now. You know how that is."

He does, and it kills what was left of his appetite.

They'll be starting the 'friends and family' interviews, small packaged segments they'll play between the action to build up the emotional bang for when the Tribute eventually is killed or wins.

"My mom said she doesn't know how Mrs. Undersee will make it through," Katniss sighs, looking at her rabbit, probably deciding if she wants to keep it or trade it at the Hob. "She's not exactly the kind of person they'll want on the television."

Gale doesn't say anything, but he knows she's right.

Mrs. Undersee, from what he's heard and what little he's seen, isn't going to make a good impression on the Sponsors in the Capitol. The odds most definitely won't be in Madge's favor if her mother gets on the airwaves.

"Maybe the prep team, whoever they are, can make her presentable," he finally mutters. He doubts it though.

Madge's mother doesn't even answer the door when he takes strawberries by, which he's done almost every day since Madge had been whisked away. His offering, his apology, to the only two people that really mattered to her.

If she can't even answer the door then how is she going to get on national television and plead for her daughter's life? Even with a prep team, he thinks it's a hopeless case.

From the look on Katniss' face, she's thinking the same thing.

They head back, through the woods and under the fence, down the coal dust covered roads of the Seam until they reach Katniss' house.

She freezes outside, squinting at it, and Gale knows why. Something is off.

Lady is sleeping, tethered to her post in the front yard, seemingly at ease, and not so much as a blade of grass is out of place, but something is wrong.

Through the screen door Gale can hear voices, even though the inside is bleakly lit against the backdrop of the setting sun. He only recognizes the two soft ones.

Setting her features, Katniss starts toward the house, taking the couple of steps up the porch in one bound.

She flings the door open and Gale runs in behind her.

Sitting at Katniss' kitchen table are her mother and sister, both looking pale and worried. Prim has the hem of her dress twisted up in her hands, eyes wide and set on her suddenly appearing sister.

Their appearance, the fear on their faces, isn't the most startling thing about the scene.

Across from them, facing the door, is a girl, maybe Gale's age. She's so clearly Capitol it almost hurts to look at her. Green hair, lips, and clothes, she would vanish in the undergrowth of the forest if she stumbled in.

"Who are you?" Katniss snaps, quickly putting herself at the center of the table, between the Capitol woman and her family, glaring at her.

Green eyebrows rise and an amused smirk forms on the woman's lips.

"I'm 'tired of waiting'," she pulls out a compact and checks her makeup, snapping it shut with a sharp click. "You're lucky I have such infinite patience and didn't get fed up with it and call that head Peacekeeper of yours, Craig isn't it?"

She glances up at Katniss, narrowing her eyes. "You've got a twig in your hair."

While Katniss hastily grabs the miniscule bit of wood from her braid, the woman sits back, crossing her arms and inspecting her. Finally, she sighs. "I've worked with worse I suppose."

Drawing himself up, he's used his size to intimidate men much bigger than this little Capitol brat, Gale scowls at her.

"She asked you a question," he all but growls. "Who are you and what are you doing in Katniss' house?"

Green eyes slowly pull from Katniss to Gale, lids drooping slightly as she considers him for a minute, looking highly unimpressed.

"She only asked who I am. I'll answer when I feel like it." She gives him a cold smile and tilts her head back to Katniss. "And I'll feel like it a lot sooner if you get this rabid_mutt_ out of my presence."

"I'm not going anywhere," Gale snarls, stepping between the woman and Katniss. "Not while you're here."

Her eyes roll and she makes a small noise. "How chivalrous of you, but trust me, _boy_, I'd sooner flay you than have to deal with your misguided attempts to protect your scruffy little girlfriend."

Katniss gives Gale a little push, so that she can see the girl again. "Gale isn't my boyfriend-"

"Oh good," she chirps in false relief, "because the baker boy, _Peeta_, he seems to have a thing for you."

She grins when Katniss' jaw drops.

"He was my first stop. Cute boy. Very sweet." She leans in, makes a show of whispering loudly, "Go with the baker. Looks fade, a good apple fritter is forever."

Katniss' face darkens and her mouth turns down in annoyance.

"This is Miss Alameda," Prim suddenly squeaks, standing so quickly she almost over turns her chair, having finally broken from her terrified silence to keep her sister from getting in a fight. "She's-she's from the Capitol. A Victor. She's here to prepare us for the friends and family interview."

Gale glances back at the woman, now smiling serenely at the group. She stands, straightens her dress, brushing some coal dust from the hem, before looking up and forcing a smile.

"Phoebe Alameda, District Ten, Sixty-Seventh Hunger Games, so excited to meet you, blah, blah, blah," she waves her hand, bored with her own introduction. Her chilly smile settles back on her face. "And you're Cavernous Evergreen."

"_Katniss Everdeen,_" Katniss corrects her through gritted teeth.

Alameda's smile widens in false pleasantness. "Oh sweety, I don't care." She turns her eyes to Gale, smile dropping. "I don't know you, so you must not be too important, lucky you. Get out. I have a _lot_of work to do."

She glances back at Katniss, eyes widening. "_Monumental_amounts of work to do." Her nose wrinkles. "Do you even bathe?"

Gale holds his ground.

"Can you not hear me up there?" Alameda asks, looking increasingly disgruntled. She cups her hands and aims her voice at Gale. "Be gone, tall one." Her hands drop, wave him off dismissively. "¡Vete!"

"You're here to help Madge?"

She shrugs. "I'm here to get interviews."

"So they'll like Madge?" Isn't that the whole point of a prep person, or whatever she is?

Her lips twitch up. "That depends."

"On _what?_" She's infuriating.

"The wind," she answers simply.

Gale grinds his teeth. Madge's life is dangling, precariously, on the whims of the Capitol and simple luck. This stupid woman is supposed to help her and she seems more intent on irritating Gale.

"I can sway them, I can work magic, but I can only do so much with what I'm given." She glances at Katniss. "Which isn't much."

Gale plants his feet. He needs to be there, he needs to make sure things go smoothly and to make the awful woman 'work magic' and get Madge home.

She waves him off again. "Now, git."

When he doesn't move, she stares at him for a minute, eyes roaming up and down his frame. Then she smiles.

Before Gale has a chance to respond, she's hooked her foot behind his ankle and sent him crashing to the floor. He barely catches his breath before the pointed end of her high heel is on his throat and Prim is screaming.

Katniss makes a move to help, but Alameda pulls a small dagger from her dress and points it at her neck. "Don't even think about it. You aren't _that_ important. I've still got the baker kid and the chubby blonde for interviews if you _mysteriously_disappear."

She jerks her knife toward the chair she'd vacated, clearly telling Katniss to sit.

Reluctantly, she does, wary eyes on the heel at Gale's neck the whole time.

Once Katniss is sitting Gale feels the heel leave his neck, the sharp pressure vanishing only to be replaced by a knee in his chest and the collar of his shirt tightening.

"Now Gale," Alameda whispers, her nose an inch from Gale's face, "I want you to always remember that you brought this on yourself. I tried to warn you. I tried to let you stay unimportant."

She pulls back, pats him roughly on the cheek. "Congratulations, _Dorothy_, you've given me a reason to know who you are."

#######

Alameda stays for several hours, according to Katniss. He'd finally left when Prim had begged him to go. "She's actually not too bad-well, she wasn't before the two of you showed up."

Despite his misgivings, he knew Katniss could handle her if she really needed to.

"She told me I had all the warmth and charm of a bloated possum," she tells him as he walks with her towards the Mayor's house for her interview. It's early, but Alameda had apparently told her she needed 'hosed down', so she needed to be up with the sun.

Gale actually laughs at that.

"I hate her," Katniss grumbles, kicking a rock with her mother's delicate looking shoes and glaring down at her blue dress, her Reaping dress.

He isn't invited, but Gale plans on listening from the bushes under the sitting room window. There's a small break in the well kept hedges that he often sat in when he was younger and needed a break from Rory, and less frequently Vick, and listened to Madge practicing her piano. Not that he'd admit that.

They get to the house just as Mellark does.

He's dressed in his Reaping Day clothes too, his hair slicked back a bit comically and a curious expression on his face.

"I'm going to guess you and Birdy hit it off swimmingly."

Katniss' disgusted expression intensifies. "_Birdy?_"

Mellark shrugs. "She said I could call her that."

"She likes you." Katniss cuts her eyes up to the Mayor's house. "She's trying to kill us."

A small smile, just a hint, twitches on Mellark's face. "I…" He shrugs again. "Maybe."

Gesturing to the porch, he waits for Katniss to nod a goodbye to Gale and start up before he heads in himself.

"Good luck," Gale calls at their backs, earning a dark look from Katniss and a chuckle from Mellark.

#######

Once he's settled in the bushes, tilted his head so that he can hear Mellark and Katniss' muffled voices, he pulls out a small pouch of strawberries and bites into one.

One of the inner doors slams, someone pounds down the stairs-he doesn't have to guess who-and flings the sitting room doors open.

For several seconds Gale doesn't hear anything, just the uncomfortable silence that accompanies an unwanted intruder, then he hears a sigh.

"Well, where's Dorothy?"

Gale doesn't hear Katniss' answer, he hadn't told her his plan, she was a terrible liar, but whatever it is, however truthful, Alameda doesn't believe it.

"I would accuse you of playing dumb, but I don't think it's an act," Alameda snickers, her voice a little closer this time.

Chewing his berry a little quieter, Gale strains to hear what she says next.

Suddenly, green hair and wild eyes are staring at him, upside down.

"Found you my pretty." She grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up, an impressive feat from her precarious position hanging from the window. When he's on his feet, half choking on his berry, she snatches the green stem from his fingers and flings it over his shoulder. "I knew you wouldn't let the scarecrow here get too far without you. Granted you don't have much in the way of brains either."

Crossing her arms, she jerks her head toward the back porch stairs. "Get over there."

He has no reason to listen to her, but his feet don't follow his command to run and he finds himself standing on the back porch as the screen door flings open and the wicked witch of District Ten steps out.

She's barefooted, making her several inches shorter than she had been with her sharp heels, but somehow that doesn't make her any less frightening. It's probably her hair. It's unnatural, gives her a wicked pallor.

"Gale Hawthorne, nineteen in September, and bound for the mines. Two brothers: Rory and Vick, and one sister: Posy. You're a poacher. Your father died in a mine collapse-same as Katniss the Catastrophe's. You sell strawberries to the Mayor. You have _quite_ the reputation at something called a slag heap, and you were not among those who visited Magdalene for her final goodbye, so tell me, why are you listening in on her interviews?"

Gale balls his fists. "Katniss didn't say goodbye either."

Her green head bobs. "No, but my notes tell me they were at least amicable. Ate lunch together and partnered in class. I can weave that into the tale of a girl so crushed by losing her friend that she missed her last chance to say goodbye." She crosses her arms. "Other than a pretty face, and an easy lay-not that she's partaken in that and which I can't use," she grumbles something about 'Mr. Haymitch' before shaking her head, "-what are you?"

His eyes drop, down to her green painted toenails.

He's nothing to Madge. He's the boy that made light of her chances of being Reaped. He's the boy that looked down on her just because she had the good fortune to be born in the Town and to the Mayor.

He's less than nothing to her.

"I just want her to come home," he finally mumbles. "She's smart enough to do it."

As unconvinced as she looks, mouth pulled to the side in a scrutinizing way, she seems to accept his answer.

"Take your watch off," she tells him as she pulls the screen door open. "The sun is hitting it. These pigs will see something shiny in an instant and you'll be stuck bumping uglies with the Glaive sister. You're just her type. Still breathing."

She takes a step, almost in the door, when she looks back, her expression earnest for the first time.

"She's better off not coming back." It's not her chilly smirk, but a genuinely sad smile that meets Gale when he focuses on her. "Just so you know."

With that she vanishes in, letting the door clatter closed behind her.

#######

"I think it went well," Mellark answers Gale when he and Katniss finally emerge from the Mayor's house.

"Yours went well," Katniss grumbles. "Mine was a disaster."

Gale is inclined to agree. He's heard Katniss' answers, her 'chit-chat', from his spot under the window. It had been a little dry, not funny and witty like Mellark's or even, to Gale's great surprise, Delly Cartwright's.

"Birdy said she'd spin it," Mellark comforts her, reaching out to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder but thinking better of it and instead running his hand through his hair, completely ruining his careful combing.

"I wish we could've heard Mrs. Undersee's," he steers the conversation away from Katniss' poor showing during the interview. "I hope she does well."

Gale tugs at his hair, sticking it on end and looking back at the Mayor's house.

"Let's go check the television." Mellark gestures toward the Seam. "There's nothing we can do here. It's out of our hands."

Much as he hates it, Mellark is right. He and Katniss had done all they could do, now it was up to Madge, her drunken mentor, and that awful Alameda woman.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

**A World Apart, pt 6**

AN: Thanks to FortuneFaded2012 for the beta.

#######

Madge's leg still throbs, but the swelling is going down, and she manages to walk on it to scavenge some berries and get back to her stream to refill her canteen before the pain overwhelms her.

She's in the Final Eight. She'd put herself in it, and the thought still turns her stomach.

Pushing that thought aside, she wonders if they've interviewed her mother yet. Her stomach rolls again. Her poor mother.

If Madge's being Reaped hadn't put her into an entirely Morphling dependent state, then the interviews certainly will. There have been years where the families have broken down, sobbing tearful messes, and she's almost certain her mother will be part of that group.

She nibbles on her finds, a few berries and a couple of roots, wishing her supply of jerky and cheese hadn't run out the day before.

Her energy reserves have run out, and when she'd heard the cannon fire a few hours earlier, signaling that the remaining Tributes were now dwindled to seven, she slumped down into the nook in her tree.

Above her the branches rustle and a small shadow falls over her.

Tilting her head up, Madge squints into the dimming sun and spots a small pot attached to a silver parachute.

Her stomach growls.

Mr. Abernathy had told her he was going to use sponsors sparingly, but apparently watching her wither away was enough to make him utilize some of whatever funds she's managed to accrue to keep her from starving.

Using what's left of her strength, she crawls up, out onto the branches above her, carefully reaching out to retrieve her gift.

It isn't heavy, and she clutches it to her chest as she crawls back down to her branch.

Once she's settled down, she opens the pot.

It's stuffed with jerky, and she almost cries-she's past hungry, but she _hates_ jerky at this point.

She plucks up a piece, slowly munching it. This may be the only gift she gets and she wants to make it last.

Idly, she wonders if Katniss and Gale ever made any with whatever animals they kill. It's not something that ever came up during her and Katniss' quiet lunches. She never had the chance to ask Gale, and now she never will.

The thought is painful and she pushes it away.

Katniss and Gale don't deserve her time. She has so precious little of it to waste.

Fighting back tears, she stares at her little pot. She runs her fingers over the edge, then pulls the parachute up and examines it. Torn to shreds by the tree.

Her hunger is just settling, when she hears the cannon fire again.

Six.

#######

The bastard from One kills the girl from Eleven, a spear through her back as she made her getaway. Cato and Clove take out her District partner as he rages against them, in a fury over their murder of the little girl and their taunting gloats thrown at him after.

Gale would've probably died the same way, he thinks. Thresh, had died defending the memory of a child, and Gale feels a kinship with that sentiment.

"What do you think she's planning?" Katniss asks from her slumped spot on her front porch.

The electricity is on, probably for the Capitol people staying at the Mayor's house's peace of mind, so the fence is humming ominously. There's no chance of going into the forest for the foreseeable future.

Gale's stomach rumbles. Last night's dinner and his disappointing breakfast of dwindling berries hadn't lasted very long. He and Katniss should've kept that rabbit.

"Hell if I know, Catnip," Gale grunts as he watches Lady nip at Rory's pant leg. Prim, Vick, and Posy seem amused, but Rory doesn't.

Sighing, he looks away from the kids and down at a trail of ants, marching purposefully to their mound by Katniss' porch.

He wishes he could've peeked into Madge's head as she nibbled on the jerky Haymitch had finally sent her. The look of concentration, the small bit of light in her eyes as she'd stared at her little pot had made it clear she had something in mind. Gale just didn't know what that was.

"Guys!" Gale looks over and spots Mellark waving, flanked on his right by Alameda.

She's an eyesore. Her dress is an electric yellow, and her green hair is in a puffy bun at the back of her head.

Katniss scowls when she spots Alameda's green talons wrapped around Mellark's arm.

"Salutations," she yells brightly over the fence. The kids instantly stare at her as she and Mellark breeze past them. They trail after the pair, nearly running into them when they stop at the porch.

Posy's mouth forms a small 'o'. "Your hair is green. Like the grass."

Alameda's green eyebrows rise. "It's dragon scale green actually."

Turning from them, Alameda settles her cool stare back on Katniss.

"What do you want?" Katniss asks, earning a glare from Prim, who'd told her to be nice to Alameda after the interviews had shown the evening before.

"She made you look…" Prim glanced around uncomfortably. "You know…"

"Pleasant?" Mellark had offered quietly, with a small grimace. He'd come by to watch the interviews with them, bringing a loaf of bread.

Gale wouldn't admit it, but watching with the muffin man had actually been enjoyable. He and Gale had laughed for nearly an hour after seeing how Alameda had edited the interviews. Pleasant was an understatement. If Gale hadn't known any better, he'd have thought Katniss was a chatty, bright, and friendly girl.

He'd also helped Gale ignore the fact that Madge's mother wasn't part of the family interview. Which was more unsettling than the edited version of Katniss.

"Lovely to see you too, sunshine," Alameda chirps. She gives Gale a slight glance. "Dorothy."

Gale simply glares.

Mellark, who looked to be ready to burst, finally breaks her hold on him and drops down onto the porch, grinding coal dust into his knees. "Did you see?"

Vick slides next to him, his eyes wide. "See what?"

"Madge got out of the tree!" He almost shouts.

Rory drops next to Vick, giving him a little shove out of the way. "Where is she going?"

"What is she doin'? I wanna know too!" Posy flings herself onto Mellark's back. "Tell me!"

Katniss crawls over from her spot, she clearly can't hear over Posy's wailing. Neither can Gale, for that matter, so with a grunt, he scoots over closer so he can hear Mellark's new information.

"They cut to her for a few minutes. She just crawled down and headed toward the Cornucopia."

Gale's heart stops, falls into his stomach.

What is she thinking? The Cornucopia is the Careers' camp.

He'd watched as they had the boy from Three rig it, dig up the explosives around the metal plates they'd been thrust into the Arena in up, and deposit them around the metallic horn of plenty. It's a death trap, and Madge has no idea.

"How's her leg?" Katniss asks, mouth a tight line.

"She's getting around better." Mellark sighs. "But if they get in a chase I don't know if she'll still be able to stay ahead of them."

"It was only one sting," Prim chews her lip. "Maybe it's healing already. I wish there were more literature on tracker jacker venom."

"What do you think she's planning?" Vick whispers as he leans back to Gale, removing himself from Prim and the others' conjecturing about the state of Madge's leg.

Gale shrugs. He wishes he knew.

The Careers have the advantage. They're well supplied, in a well protected area with bombs littering the ground around them. They're their own tracker jacker nest.

Madge had upset a nest of tracker jackers though.

Frowning, Gale glances down, watches the trail ants again, his eyes following them to their mound.

Their strength, their concentrated power, is also a weakness. They're trapped. If Madge figures out how to set off the bombs surrounding the Careers' nest…

"She can blow them up," he mumbles, more to himself than to Vick.

Vick's eyebrows scrunch together. "What?"

The others have stopped talking, are all watching him curiously. He clears his throat, pulling his thoughts together.

"She can blow them up. They're sitting on landmines. Not very smart."

"They're in a barrel," Alameda's voice suddenly carries over them. Gale had forgotten she was even there.

She's standing with Lady, feeding her sprigs of grass. How she heard Gale over the din of his siblings he doesn't know, but he doesn't care much at the moment.

Her expression is almost unreadable, she's focused on the goat, ripping the grass from her fingers.

"What's in a barrel?" Vick asks, frowning at her.

"Fish," she answers, after several seconds.

Gale doesn't bother fighting the urge to roll his eyes. She's lost what little sense she had.

"_Like shooting fish in a barrel_." Her voice is a little louder this time. "Good catch, Dorothy."

She lets the last blades of grass catch in the wind, blow off, and looks up to the porch, a little smile on her face. "She might just be half as smart as Mr. Haymitch said she is after all."

#######

Madge watches the Careers, maps out their moves, learns their patterns-when they sleep, when they eat, when they hunt.

At first she thinks maybe her plan, which is nothing more than a vague idea, is hopeless.

'_Use your head_' Mr. Abernathy's voice, his words, echo in her head and she shakes them away.

Yes the Careers are lumped together, and yes that makes them a larger target, like the tracker jackers had been weak, easy to use as a weapon in their hive. Unlike the tracker jackers the Careers can't be dropped from a tree when it becomes convenient.

_That's_ her problem.

The clock is ticking and she has to make a move, she can sense that in her blood. Her position is still one of disadvantage though.

She has them corralled, but she has no idea what to do with them.

Until she sees the redhead from Five.

Madge had forgotten about her. She thinks that might've been the girl's plan.

It puzzles Madge the first day she watches the girl dance, jump and skip, up to the pile of Career food, guarded by the sleepy eyed Clove in the morning, then by the skinny boy from Three in the evening, before his 'friends' return.

It's the next morning, when she sees the upturned earth, the piles and patted down spots, that she wonders why the Careers would bother digging holes. Then she watches the redhead again.

She watches the Careers, carefully tiptoeing, less gracefully, but no less effectively, up to their stash as they switch off. Her eyes catch on the boy from Three, the misfit of the group.

Finally, it hits her.

It's brilliant and dangerous.

"Bombs," she breathes out, a tiny smile forming on her lips as she watches the boy from One head off. He's still a creature of habit. Even pees on a schedule.

Her plan, which had been next to nothing, begins to take shape. The pieces in play are clear to her now, where they all stand, their strengths and weakness, all that's left is to make her move.

She just hopes the bloodlust of the Capitol holds off for long enough for her to manage it.

#######

The evening is spent gathering berries.

Some are safe, the edible ones that had sustained her during the short time she'd been without food, before Mr. Abernathy's gift had arrived, the others are not.

Wandering a bit further into the forest, she spots the lynch pin of her plan.

The berries seem innocuous enough, plump and inviting, but she recognizes them from the training center. Nightlock.

"You'll be dead before you even realize you've made the mistake," the old woman in charge had told her.

Madge had studied them carefully after that, not wanting such a simple mistake to be her end.

Once her little pot is full she crawls back into her tree, cradling it carefully in her lap as she settles down. Every now and then she opens the top, looks down at her cluster of deadly berries, and frowns.

Tears start to prickle in her eyes and she shuts the lid on her little pot.

Closing her eyes she imagines Mr. Abernathy watching her, her mother and father.

No one else needs her, and really, neither do her parents or Mr. Abernathy, and she has to bite her lips to keep the tears at bay. Copper floods her mouth, and she tries to focus on the pain.

It doesn't work.

Her mind jumps to Katniss, probably out in the woods with Gale. Has she even paid any attention to the Games? Would Gale even care if Clove cut Madge up? Would anyone?

She isn't sure why she's still fighting to live. No one back home is rooting for her, except for maybe her parents. Her death wouldn't even be remembered.

Irritation boils up in her stomach.

It isn't fair. She'd never done anything to any of them, and they'll probably spit on her grave for no other reason than that she'd been born well off.

She's made it this far though, survived even though she's sure the men taking bets back home had her dying in the bloodbath. Going home would prove to them that she's more than just a privileged child.

Then she thinks of the Victors, all hollowed out and dull despite the glitter on their skin.

Victory, the promotion from a pawn to some more valuable piece, proving herself to the people of her District, might not be worth the price, whatever it is, that she'll have to pay.

Rubbing her eyes, she waits for the emblem to shine in the sky and the Anthem to play.

A cannon had fired while she was picking berries.

Five left.

She just wants to know which five.

#######

The two days of Madge watching the Careers had been nerve wracking.

Gale isn't sure what she's planning. She's discovered the Careers are sleeping on the mines, but she's not made any indication that she knows how to use that information. Nothing in her looks, the way her eyes follow them, study them, gives anything away, if there is anything, and he worries that without a death soon the Capitol will get restless. The Gamemakers might spring one of their traps, which have been suspiciously absent this year.

That makes him the most nervous, the looming threat of the Gamemakers and their easily swayed mood. Madge has made it this far, carefully and quietly, and he worries they'll see the coal dust of her true nature, a girl from an outer District, not the diamond coated toy they thought, shining through.

It wakes him up at night.

He finds himself turning on the television, checking to make sure they haven't set off a trap, an unnatural disaster for the late night crowd's amusement.

"Gale," his mother had run her hand over his hair, smoothing it down when she'd caught him, up for the twentieth time in a night. "You need to rest."

She hadn't said it, but he could hear the unspoken plea. He'll be in the mines soon, good rest, peaceful rest, won't exist once he starts riding the elevators into the mines that had taken his father.

"Just a few more minutes." He'd only needed to watch her breathing, make sure they hadn't released some noxious gas into the air, before he could even think of sleeping.

"There's nothing you can do," she whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair.

He swallowed down a lump and a cold reply. It didn't matter that there's nothing he could do. Seeing her, even if he had no power to help, to comfort, was enough at the moment. It was all he had.

"Go to bed," is all he answered with.

She'd looked disappointed, pressed one last kiss into his hair, and left him to his vigil, which had lasted another hour.

"They're eating Peeta up," Katniss grumbles as she comes by his house after another evening spent glaring at the guest. A requirement, a demand brought down on her by Alameda.

Gale imagines they are. Mellark has a natural ability to connect, even with the disgusting people from the Capitol.

"That Glaive woman, the one I told you about, with the white hair that kept touching Peeta, is leaving though." Her nose wrinkles up and she picks something out of her teeth. "Miss Alameda told him she and her brother are headed back to the Capitol. Something about business."

Nodding, Gale takes a long drink of his beer, sets it on the steps and stares up at the moon. "Hn."

"She says it's almost over," Katniss continues. There's a nervous energy about her, and Gale isn't sure if it's what she was told or who had told her that's brought it on.

"Why?" Gale frowns. Aside from the girl from Five dying, caught in a net by the One and throat sliced by Clove, there's no reason to think the remaining Tributes won't drag it out for a few days.

In years past the Capitol has been aggressive with making sure the Game's end is primetime television. They haven't promoted anything yet. Not made one indication that they sense an end coming quickly.

Katniss shrugs, stares out at the growing darkness. "Peeta thinks she probably has an inside person, maybe an odds maker. Someone who just studies the Games maybe."

That would make sense, and it also makes Gale's insides churn. An inside person would know if the Gamemakers were planning something, even a last minute surprise, which may or may not bode well for Madge.

She's clearly popular with the Capitol, the obnoxious guests have given more than enough proof of that with the papers Katniss and Mellark have scavenged from them. Her sparkling introduction has carried through, made her a front runner.

Her lack of gifts, life sustaining food and weaponry, from Sponsors, though, worries Gale. If she's as popular as the papers make her seem, then why hasn't she received more than one pot of jerky?

If she dies because Haymitch Abernathy is too drunk to use her funds, Gale might finish the job the Quarter Quell had failed at almost twenty-five years before.

"Yeah," Gale mutters, finishing off his beer. "Maybe."

#######

The lights are all off at the Mayor's house except for the lonely one glowing through the back door when Gale sneaks up to it.

It's a stupid plan, and he knows it, but he has to know what the witch has heard, why she thinks the Games are coming to a close soon.

His footsteps are light, barely making a sound as he takes the steps two at a time, then gently across the wood of the porch.

The backdoor has a circle of glass in it, he squints through the screen, through the circle, into the kitchen, and spots a figure, badly obscured by the screen. He knocks, and they turn.

It isn't Alameda and he worries it's one of the horrible women from the Capitol that make Mellark so uncomfortable.

For a few seconds the woman just stares at him, he can't tell, but he assumes she has a confused look on her face at receiving a visitor so late.

When she gets closer Gale realizes it isn't one of the guests.

It's Madge's mother.

He hasn't seen her often, just a handful of times in his entire life, but he'd know her anywhere.

She's Madge with a few distinct mistakes. Her eyes aren't as clear, probably from whatever medical problem that keeps her home and in bed so often, but they are every bit as blue. Her hair is duller, faded, soft and wispy, but the shape of her face, the curve of her jaw and the slight smile are mirrored on her daughter.

Her eyes squint up at him through the glass and screen and her nose wrinkles up as she considers him.

There's a soft click, then the door opens.

"Hello." A hazy smile greets him as she tilts her head, still studying him. "You brought us strawberries, didn't you?"

How she knew that, he's pretty sure he hadn't been seen when he'd dropped them off, several days in a row in the wake of the Reaping, right up until the Capitol guests arrived, he doesn't know, but he nods anyway. No point denying it.

Her smile brightens. "Thank you."

"Welcome," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

He hadn't expected to meet Madge's mother, and with her unsettling resemblance to her daughter, he wishes he hadn't.

'You aren't one of Madge's little friends." Her smile fades as she watches him. "The girl said there were only three of those. Such a pity. My Madge is such a sweet girl."

Gale watches the dim light in her eyes, the excitement at seeing him, slowly vanish as she ponders him through the screen.

"Are you here to make fun of me? Of my baby?" She asks, her eyes narrowing on his face and her hand jumping to the door handle. "It isn't funny, you know? What did she do to you?"

Her voice breaks and tears start spilling down her cheeks before Gale can tell her otherwise.

"Mrs. Undersee," he presses his palms to the screen, "please, I'm not here to make fun of you, or Madge."

The fact that she thinks that makes him feel ill. She wouldn't think that unless someone had done it.

He remembers Vick's confession about the kids at school and wonders how many of them had made a game of tormenting Madge's parents from their back porch.

"I just came to talk to the girl. Alameda."

Breath still stuttering, she wipes at her face, scrutinizes him with her watery eyes. "The green girl?"

Gale nods. "I want-need to ask her about Madge. I just want to make sure she's going to be okay. I want her to win."

For a minute he doesn't think she believes her, because she just stares at him and sniffles. Finally though, she pushes the screen open and motions for him to come in.

The second the screen shuts, a soft clatter, he feels a pair of arms fling around him.

He isn't quite sure what to do, he's never had someone's mother hug him before. Not even Katniss'.

Madge's mother is though, has him in a tight hug, her tear streaked cheek pressed to his chest and her pale arms wrapped around him. She's a fragile thing, thin and feathery, and Gale can't imagine her ever carrying a child. Madge exists though, so she must be a little tougher than she seems.

"Thank you," she rasps out, almost too low for Gale to hear.

He isn't sure for what, maybe being a decent person, something he's never really been accused of being before, but he doesn't argue with her, just gently pats her back for a few seconds.

When she's finally let the hug run its course, she lets go and backs up, wiping her eyes.

"I'll get the girl," she whispers, still rubbing her eyes as she leaves the kitchen.

Gale looks around, he's never actually been in the Undersee's kitchen, just seen it from the frame of the backdoor.

Everything is white, washed in the yellow light from over the sink. Mrs. Undersee has left a cup on the counter, her tea is still steeping in it.

The cupboards are probably well stocked, same with the pantry and the icebox, and Gale's stomach growls at the thought of all the food just out of his reach.

He's pulled from that thought by a huff.

"Have I not suffered enough today?" Alameda mutters, rolling her eyes.

"He's come to talk about Madge," Mrs. Undersee tells her, smiling airily at Gale. "He's checking up on her."

"Then he can turn on the television."

"I need your…expertise," Gale grinds out.

A small grin, a stifled look of triumph, flitters on Alameda's face. "Realized I'm the all knowing one, have you?"

Gale grunts, not really an affirmative, but close enough.

"Fine." She points to the door. "Dorothy. Porch. Now."

He loathes being spoken to like a dog, but he isn't in the mood to be stabbed or knocked down, so he starts for the door.

Mrs. Undersee catches his hand before he goes, presses a kiss to the back of his hand. "Thank you."

Even though he doesn't deserve her thanks, he'd started hoping her daughter would come home to clear his own guilty conscience after all, he forces a weak smile for her.

#######

Alameda lets the door bang shut behind her and Gale winces.

"Won't that wake them up?" He eyes the upper room windows, expecting the lights to come on at any minute.

"They sleep with the children of Somnus, so unlikely." Alameda turns on her heels, a pair of worn looking shoes. She sighs, pulls out her compact and checks her appearance for a minute before clicking it shut. "What do you want? I haven't got all night."

Frowning, Gale looks her over. She's in a pair of worn looking pants and a work shirt, hair up, make-up off. It doesn't look like sleep clothes, and he vaguely wonders where she's going, but he decides not to waste time asking. She'll just lie anyway.

"How do you know the Games are fixing to end?"

One of her green eyebrows rises. "Why does it matter? You and cranky-pants planning a party and want the fence down by a certain date so you can stock up?"

Gale feels his heart race. He knew she was aware of his poaching, but hearing her talk about it so flippantly terrifies him. She's got his lifeblood under the blade of her dagger, and there's nothing he can do about it.

He takes a deep breath; he won't be cowed by her.

"I'm worried about Madge." He crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at her.

Her chin raises a fraction. "Well, aren't you just a prince."

"How do you know?" He demands again.

"This isn't my first rodeo," she snaps. "You watch enough of these, pay close enough attention, you _learn_ a few things. That girl is about to end this, and if she's half as clever as Mr. Haymitch says, half as clever as she seems, she'll end it better than the rest of us." She checks her watch and makes a face. "Now if you don't mind."

She brushes past him, jumping from the porch and into the grass, her green hair darker and her skin paler in the moonlight.

Gale follows her, catches her by the wrist and forces her to stop.

"What do you mean, 'better than the rest of us'?" It's ominous, and he remembers her words from the day of Katniss and Mellark's interviews.

"_She's better off not coming back."_

His stomach rolls.

With a jerk, she wrenches her arm from his grip. Her lips, black in the moonlight, twitch up. She laughs, and a shiver runs up Gale's back.

"Do you really think any of us ever come home?" She sucks in a breath, dark eyes shining. "Oh Dorothy, do you think this is me? Do you think the man that fell off that stage is Haymitch Abernathy? No one comes home from the Games, not really. Some get sent back in caskets and some in crowns, but in the end? Only the dead really get the prize. The rest are just in a well furnished hell."

"Don't curse her. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. The better way to come home isn't as a Victor." Her voice cracks. "Trust me."

With that she backs away, turning from Gale and vanishing into the dark at the edge of the lawn, leaving Gale with more questions and worries than when he came.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

**A World Apart, pt 7**

AN: A thousand thanks to FortuneFaded2012 for the beta.

#######

Gale watches the Victor's on television more closely the next day as they talk.

They rotate through who they talk to throughout the Games. The beginning is reserved for strategists, the clever ones, then, as the Games drag on, the Mentors of the surviving Tributes are brought out, alongside the prettiest, the most glamorous of their lot.

It's a miracle Abernathy isn't called up. He's District Twelve's only Victor, Madge's only lifeline, and apparently that is allowed to trump any television appearances he might be inclined to make. Or maybe they'd still just rather talk to anyone but a drunk who refuses to bathe.

Gloss and Cashmere, the brother and sister team, are on, gushing over their Tribute with Caesar Flickerman. Finnick Odair, the Capitol's darling playboy, had been on earlier, for no apparent reason other than to give the audience something to drool over. Before that Lyme had stirred support for her 'fighting pair'.

Alameda's words had echoed in his head with each appearance, with each cut of the camera to Madge, still spying on the group from her tree.

"_I wouldn't wish this on anyone. The better way to come home isn't as a Victor." _

"_She's better off not coming back."_

Gale's always seen Victor's for what the Capitol has painted them as.

Happy, rich, free from the misery and starvation of the Districts.

Now though, studying them, he isn't so sure.

Madge's fake smiles, her forced happiness, are nothing compared to the acts he sees with the Victors.

Despite the lighting, or maybe because of it, Gale sees the strain in their eyes. There's something desperate, hopeless in them. Their smiles are painful and their laughs are as empty as the shelves in Gale's family's kitchen.

They're hollowed out. They're flesh and bone and nothing more, and Gale doesn't know how he missed it. It's all a show, one more illusion put in Gale's eyes by the Capitol. Another lie.

Victory isn't a prize. He isn't sure what it is.

As he watches Madge crawl down from her tree, follow after the boy from One, he wonders if Victory is really what he wants for her.

He wonders if she's strong enough to keep fighting whatever monsters and mutts the Capitol has waiting for her if she does.

#######

Madge drops down, not so much as breathing, from the tree, trailing after the boy from One.

He's still got his spear, held tight in his hand as he makes his way into the forest to pee.

This is her endgame, she's making the final moves to set all the pieces, the last of her final fellow Tributes, up for the last move.

There isn't a choice, with the girl from Five dead they'll be hunting Madge soon.

Her stomach rolls at the thought.

She'd argued with herself the night before, forcing herself to decide if Victory was really what she wanted. If it was worth the cost.

Her plan will make her a killer, but then again, becoming a Victor almost always requires a kill or two. The girls from One and Four don't count, at least that's how she's comforted herself. That had been a spur of the moment decision, it wasn't thought out, planned. Not like what she was doing now.

Whether winning, surviving to become whatever glittering monstrosity the Capitol wants her to be, is worth the cost of her mind, her sense of self, her soul, she still isn't sure.

What she is sure of is her mother, who has already lost all her blood links to the world, won't survive another death. Her father had practically begged her to survive.

Then there was Mr. Abernathy, who'd put all his effort, every ounce of his will, into her.

She wasn't going to go into Victory blind, like so many others. Even if she wasn't sure what might await her, she knew it wasn't all fancy food and parties. She had played this Game out and she'd have to play out the next one.

Holding her little pot close, she waits for the boy to finish his business, signaling her with the loud zip of his pants.

_This is it._

When he's started on his way back, Madge makes a production of falling from the bush she'd been hiding in.

He looks up, and when he realizes what's stumbled into his path, he grins.

"Guess your luck finally ran out, huh, Twelve?"

Lifting his spear, a dark light shines in his eyes, certain Madge is his next kill, one less obstacle to his win. A kill all his own, without his fellow Careers. The hunger almost radiates from him.

She rolls, making sure he spots the pot clutched to her chest, off the path, and into the forest, where his spear will be hindered by the low hanging branches and his footing will be off on the uneven ground.

_This would be so much easier if the parachute hadn't been torn up._

It would've been so much less risky.

Still, even with her injured leg, she's faster than him. Smaller and quicker, she ducks and weaves away from his view, hearing him pant as she does.

_Almost there._

There's a flock of mockingjays, she'd found them the day before, during her search for berries, and had woven them into her plan.

Tripping, exaggeratedly so, she sets her pot down in the, tossing a few harmless berries out as she does for effect.

As fast as she can, she scrambles to her feet, relieved to see the One still wheezing several yards back, well outside his range with his spear.

She pretends to try to pick her lost item up, lets it slip again and looks back in a panic at the boy before taking off in a frustrated run, looking longingly back at her only gift of the Game.

He's greedy, just as he'd been back in the Training Center when he'd stolen food from the others' tray, even though it hadn't been necessary. When he spots Madge's pot, a beacon of hope for any Tribute, he laughs.

"No dinner for you!" He shouts, flinging the lid off and reaches in the pot, begins messily eating the berries.

Madge looks back, forces her expression into one of complete disappointment, and he smiles. Gloating right up to the last breath, right up until he realizes he's made a mistake.

The grin slips from his face and his eyes loll, he drops to the ground.

Time seems to stop as Madge turns to the bush, she's sure there are only a few seconds before the cannon fires, announcing another death. If she wants the last Careers to think the One killed her she has stir up the mockingjays.

She lets out an ear splitting scream, sending the mockingjays up in a frenzy or pained screeches.

The cannon is barely audible over the echoes of her scream.

#######

"What are you planning?" Gale mutters to himself.

His heart is still racing, had almost beat out of his chest as he'd watched Madge put on some kind of show, tripping around and dropping her poison berry pot. He'd been sure she had finally lost her mind, something that occasionally happened to Tributes, as she let the boy see her, chase her.

It wasn't until he started eating the berries, nightlock-Gale had wondered why she was picking those-that he realized what she was doing.

Madge is smart. She'd anticipated the boy's cruelty, known just what to bait him with, and just how to set him up to fall.

When she'd started screaming, Gale had been curious, until cameras cut to the other three.

"Marvel must've killed her," Cato grumbled.

"He won't be coming back," Clove shrugged.

They'd gutted the poor boy from Three, Gale thinks his name was Cable, shortly after. Gale thinks he should've seen that coming, but still looked shocked when the other two turned on him.

As they head back to camp they discuss their plans, stopping at the lake to clean the Three's blood from their hands as they do.

They'll stay together until they catch Marvel. Once he's dead, then they'll deal with each other.

"A good old fashioned District Two showdown," Cato chuckles.

Gale goes to his porch after that, planning a walk, he needs some air. He can't understand how they can discuss killing each other, a boy they'd joked with only the day before, so easily. It's no more interesting to them than the weather.

It at least gives him some comfort though. They think Madge is dead, they won't be looking for her, won't waste time hunting a ghost. She has until Marvel's picture is shown overhead at nightfall before they realize it's them verses the 'Diamond Girl' from District Twelve.

He wishes he knew what she had planned.

He hopes it's good.

#######

They don't expect her to put a stop to their show, Gale knows that, because they don't call for a mandatory viewing in the Square as they normally do when they sense the end drawing near.

Alameda does though.

Mellark comes for Katniss, huffing as he runs through the streets of the Seam to her house, a sweaty mess when he finally gets there.

"She said to come," he pants as Prim brings him a ladle of water. "She said it's about to end."

Gale had only just arrived a few minutes before him, having taken a long, winding walk to the meadow and along the fence to clear his head and try to figure out Madge's plan, cutting past Katniss house to avoid a new group of Peacekeepers. He's never been more glad for a detour in his life.

He almost runs back to his house, to get Vick and Rory, who'd gone out to play a game of kickball with their friends once Madge was safe, but the urgency in Mellark's voice pushes that thought out of his head.

Heart pounding, Gale trails behind Katniss and Prim, but out strides the winded Mellark by several yards, all the way to the Mayor's house.

Alameda is standing in the backyard, a chicken battling to escape her grasp in one hand and an axe in the other.

When she spots the group she sighs and drops the axe. Prim's face goes pale when the chicken's neck snaps and Alameda continues holding it while it thrashes about.

"Great, the whole gang's here," she rolls her eyes.

"What's happening?" Gale sputters, trying to catch his breath.

"Dinner!" She shakes the chicken a little, its fight is leaving it. "And your girl is about to end the Game. Her mother made ice cream for the occasion."

Katniss scowls. "How do you know?"

"Well, I was there. I helped her churn it-"

"She means about the Games!" Gale snaps.

Alameda's green lips press together and she narrows her gaze at Gale. She jabs at him with the feet of the now lifeless chicken. "I'm paying attention. The One is dead, the Three is dead, it's just her and the Twos now. Her hand is being forced."

"They haven't called a mandatory viewing-"

"Dorothy, _darling_, Gamemakers aren't half as clever as they think they are. Even if they suspect what she's going to do, they'll think it's ridiculous. _I _think it's ridiculous. I also think it's genius." She scratches her cheek with the chicken feet. "Then again, I'm a little crazy."

"You don't say," Katniss grumbles. Mellark fights off a chuckle.

She shoves the chicken into Gale's hands. "Hold this."

Dead chicken in hand, Gale watches as she begins plucking feathers from it.

"Right now they think she's dead, she has an advantage." She wipes some sweat from her forehead. "Once they know it's just them and her, they'll track her down. She has to strike now."

"How?" Prim asks, eyeing the bird in Gale's hand warily.

Alameda shrugs. "Dunno."

Frustrated, Gale throws the chicken at her feet. "Then why did you have Mellark come and get us?"

"First off," she points at the chicken, "that's dinner. I _was_ going to offer you some, but since you've decided to act like a petulant six year old, my generosity is gone. Second, just because I can't give you details doesn't mean I'm wrong."

Swallowing down irritation, Gale leans down, picks up the chicken and holds it out to her. Smiling, she pushes it back at him. "Pluck that then come inside. The others are in the front room sleeping off a memorial bender for the Glaives. We're going to watch in the office."

As she and the others head inside, Gale pulls the feathers from the chicken, wishing he'd have stuffed the bird down Alameda's throat when he had the chance.

#######

When darkness finally creeps up, seeps over the Arena, Madge is settled up in her tree, the boy from One's spear in her hand along with what little else she could find on him before his body was taken.

It felt a bit like grave robbing, stealing things from his still warm body. His berry smeared lips still had a little spittle on them even.

As bad as she felt, his things wouldn't do him any good. Madge was the one still alive. Pillaging a body was encouraged, expected even, and with her pitiful supplies, she didn't have much choice.

She'd been a little worried that the remaining Careers would abandon their camp. For all they know the One has killed Madge and is out in the forest, planning their deaths. A pretty good reason to abandon the exposed area they'd been occupying, she thinks.

They don't seem to think too highly of him though, or his skills, because they don't break camp, they don't split up. They have apparently killed the boy from Three, though. She'd heard his cannon shortly after the One's.

Carefully, she takes the remains of her tattered parachute and makes her sack, fastening it to the spear.

Dropping from her hiding spot, she crawls under the bushes along the outskirts of the pack's camp, hears them laughing, probably about the boy from Three by the looks of it.

Ignoring them, she only has a few minutes, Madge pulls a pair of goggles from the bag she'd taken from the One and puts them on. They'd been useless during the day, but after some consideration, she'd realized what they were.

"They give them out in some Districts," her father had told her. "In Ten the wranglers use them when they're on cattle drives, so they can have their hands free but still see at night. Much more useful than a flashlight."

Night vision goggles.

The camp in front of her is bathed green and she sighs, her guess had been right.

Quietly, she takes the spear and her pitiful sack, Mrs. Oberst would be disgusted with the look of it, but it will do its job, Madge is certain of it, and places several rocks in it.

For a moment she stares at the spear, at the rocks in her battered looking sack, and considers what she's doing.

This is her last move. If it fails, she'll be dead before morning. The Games will probably end shortly after. The pair from Two will probably finish with each other before daybreak, she's certain of it.

She wonders, briefly, if anyone knows what she's planning, if they've herded everyone to the Square for a mandatory viewing, or if they're oblivious to how close the Games are to ending?

She hopes they don't know. Her mother will be safely tucked away in bed, sleeping through her nightly morphling dose if they don't. It will spare her if Madge's plan fails.

A knot, of guilt and uncertainty, tightens in Madge's stomach.

Part of her hopes her plan does fail. She'll have given it her best, and Mr. Abernathy can't be disappointed in that, can he? There's always next year.

Shaking her head, she bats that thought away. The end is too close, she's been too careful, she's used her head just like she'd been told. Failing, even if she's certain it's the best choice, isn't her bleak future.

The Anthem begins, blares out through the chirp filled night, and the Twos look up to the sky.

Madge shakes her doubts away and stands, using their distraction to creep a few yards closer. She hopes her slight success in the Training Center with the spear carries over.

As the boy from One's face lights up the sky Madge lets the spear fly.

She takes off backward, eyes transfixed on the spear as it sails over the mines in a graceful arch.

Just as she'd hoped, the sack buoys up, expelling its contents, sending a hail of heavy stones down to the upturned earth where the mines are hidden.

It only takes a second, less than that, and the world explodes, dirt and fire filling the warm night air, blotting out the sky and the moon.

Madge is blinded for a second, flies to the ground and flings the goggles away as the mines set one another off.

It's deafening, she covers her ears, plugs them up, but it doesn't help. Her head pounds and she's certain it's going to explode from the pressure of the air around her.

For a minute she thinks of her mother. This must be her reality: pressure and pounding pain. No wonder she prefers the oblivion her morphling brings.

The air is thick, suffocating her with dirt and heat, the burning remains of the Careers' pyramid of food and supplies, and she wonders if this is how the men feel during mine collapses.

It would be a terrible way to die.

How long it goes on, she doesn't know, she thinks later that she might've blacked out.

Finally the darkness settles back in, the explosions die off behind her, the earth stills once again, leaving only the smell of smoke and hot earth to remind her that she hadn't just dreamed the last few minutes of her life.

In the distance, she hears two dull thuds, two cannons.

Then a muted voice comes over the stillness.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, from District Twelve, Miss Magdalene Undersee!"

#######

The Mayor's office is silent, only the clicking of the clock on the mantle over his fireplace makes any noise.

Mellark and Prim are hugging, crying, beside him, while Katniss is still staring, mouth open in shock.

Mrs. Undersee is inches from the television, smiling at the picture of Madge they've started flashing across the screen, almost entirely blocking Gale's view, though really, there isn't much left to be seen.

Madge has won. She's a Victor.

The Mayor is at his desk, sitting in his little chair, his elbows at his knees and his face in his hands, a half empty bottle of some amber liquid sitting in front of him. His hair is thinner, he's lost some since the last time Gale saw him, and he's more drawn. The prospect of losing his only child has worn him down. Gale thinks he sees the man's mouth moving, but he isn't sure.

On the television they're in a frenzy. They hadn't expected this, hadn't planned on such a sudden and spectacular end.

"I certainly didn't see that coming," Flickerman chuckles. His hair is a little mussed and his clothes aren't as pressed.

Probably out drinking, Gale thinks irritably.

"I suspected she was a clever one," the old man from One, Iridi, says with a smirk. "She made it through without any head to head confrontations. Brilliant!"

Someone gags from behind Gale.

Turning, he sees Alameda, leaned against the door, arms crossed and dark eyes focused on the television.

"Wish that old fossil would die already," she mumbles to herself, upturning her glass in her mouth, emptying it of whatever alcohol she and the Mayor had opened up.

Gale turns back to the screen.

"Such a lovely girl," another man, fat and sweaty under the stage lights, too much make-up on, chortles. "She's going to fit in here nicely."

Gale's stomach turns as he listens to person after person, Victors and Sponsors alike, praise Madge, go on and on about how well she's going to do, how happy they are with their new Victor.

Turning back to the door, Gale watches Alameda's expression darken with each interview. For a second her eyes slide over to Gale, glitter at him in the dim light of the room. Her green lips, almost black in the shadows, twitch up at the corners.

Getting up, Gale stretches his legs, walks to the back of the room and leans on the door next to her.

"Will you help her?"

He isn't sure why he's asking, she'll probably just lie.

A soft laugh escapes her lips and she studies the glass in her hand.

"I'll do what I can." She glances over. "Just remember, I warned you, crown or coffin, we're lost."

She looks back at the television, to where Finnick Odair and his newest flame, a woman old enough to be his grandmother, are celebrating the end of the Games from some glittery bar in the Capitol.

"They take you and they break you and they glue you back together, but you're never right again. You lose everything you love, everything that makes you _you_." She swallows, her voice getting a little thick. "You aren't Capitol and you aren't District. You're a mutt."

With that she brushes past him, to the Mayor's desk, pouring herself another drink and downing it quickly.

Gale turns back to the television, just as they show Madge's pictures, one from the Reaping and one from her interview, blubbering over how much better she looks.

Bile rises in the back of his throat.

Madge won, but it feels less like a Victory and more like an intermission.

She's leaving one arena and being tossed into another, and he hopes she's ready for it.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

**A World Apart, pt 8**

AN: A thousand thanks to FortuneFaded2012 for the beta.

#######

Madge doesn't remember much from the days after they pull her from the Arena.

There was a lot of poking and prodding, she had an infection in her leg from the tracker jacker stinger. They did surgery on her, sedated her harshly with something that stung, burned in her veins, and dragged her into darkness so that they could cut her leg open and dig it all out.

"It's encapsulated," the doctor had told her cheerfully. "Lucky you."

It hadn't felt lucky.

When she'd woken up, hours or days later, she wasn't sure, someone had forced water on her, told her to drink, drink, drink…

The world faded in and out, blurring at the edges, and she slept.

Light, sunlight, finally filters into her room, cuts across her eyes and pulls her from the wild dreams, dark thoughts and screams that had consumed her sleep.

At first she thinks she's at home, that her dreams had only been just that, dreams. The sun is warm and she smells pancakes. The housekeeper, Mrs. Oberst, must be in a good mood for once.

Her eyes flutter open, and the illusion is broken.

She's in her room at the Training Center, covered in the expensive, heavy comforter. The sun is breaking through the enormous window, slipping through the middle, where the thick curtains meet.

Sitting up, a little too fast, her head spins and she falls back onto the too soft pillow.

"Take it slow, Pearl."

Mr. Abernathy at the side of her bed, sitting with his back to the wall. From the looks of it, he's been there a while.

His hair is a mess, as if he's run his hands through it a hundred times over. There are dark circles under his eyes and he hasn't shaved in what looks like a week.

With a groan, he sits forward, scrubs his hands over his face and looks over at her.

"How you feeling?"

Slower this time, Madge forces herself up, back to the headboard, and shrugs.

Her leg doesn't hurt, she can hear and see, the pounding in her head has stopped, she supposes she's as good as can be expected.

"I'm hungry," she finally rasps. Her voice is raw, broken. Which she supposes makes sense, she hasn't had anyone to talk to since the start of the Games. Her voice is out of practice, unused to working.

Mr. Abernathy nods, gets up and pops his back before leaving the room and returning with a plate of pancakes, several layers high.

Stomach growling, Madge eagerly takes the plate, lets him drown her breakfast in syrup before she begins cutting into it, taking hazardously large bites.

For several minutes she just stares at the gap in the curtains, at the sliver of light breaking through, trying not to think as she mindlessly eats. There's nothing she wants more than oblivion and sugar.

That's not possible though.

All her dreams, nightmares, seep in, turning the syrup to sand in her mouth.

The tracker jacker nest. The boy from One. The berries in her pot. The explosion.

There's screaming and blood and heat. Instead of the sweet smell of pancakes, all Madge smells is death, oozing out of her pores.

She's a killer. Five people are dead. Five familiesare one member short, all because of Madge.

The pancakes, all the butter and syrup, start to rise in her throat and she bolts from the bed, sending the plate and its contents across the comforter and onto the floor.

She barely makes it to the bathroom before everything makes it back up.

Tears and snot and bits of half digested pancake drip from her nose and mouth and she reaches blindly from her spot over the toilet for a towel, some tissue, anything.

Something wet presses to her hand, and she peeks over and up, through her filthy, greasy hair, and finds Mr. Abernathy, wet washrag in hand. He gives it a small shake, encouraging her to take it.

Feeling worse for being seen, she takes the rag and tries to wipe her face, but another wave of nausea hits her, more breakfast forces its way out of her.

She wonders if the boy or girl from Two would be hunched over their toilets. Would the boy from One have been trapped in bed for who knows how long? Are all Victories so bitter in the harsh light of day?

Every bit of energy she'd had has vanished with her sprint to the bathroom and she crumbles over the bowl, sobbing.

A warm hand comes to a rest on her back, begins trying to brush the tangles from her face, but Madge bats it away.

"Go." All she wants is to be left alone.

She's disgusting. She's a murderer.

If she'd thought she'd been alone before, when she'd been the Mayor's daughter, it was nothing compared to what she was going to be now. With the adrenaline gone, all the fear and anxiety of the Games evaporated, she can think more clearly.

Her life will exist in a limbo, trapped between the Districts and the Capitol, belonging to both and neither. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

No one will want to associate with her. Not Katniss, not Peeta, not Gale, maybe not even her parents. Who would want a killer for a daughter?

Falling back, slamming into the glass of the shower, Madge covers her face with the rag, sobs into it.

How could she have been so stupid?

Mr. Abernathy slides down to the floor beside her. She can feel him watching her out the corner of his eye.

He doesn't tell her it'll be okay, promise her things will get better, just wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her to his side.

#######

Mr. Abernathy gets her another day to pull herself together, but she'd apparently already gotten several days to recover, more than most who hadn't received major body modifications.

"Mental anguish isn't something they understand," he tells her sourly.

Madge only nods, examines herself in the mirror.

Even before her prep team had arrived, in a flurry of feathers and glitter, she'd thought she was in pretty good shape-physically anyways.

The doctors that had cut into her leg hadn't so much as left a scar. Every bruise, every nick and cut, every blemish had been erased while Madge had been in a stupor.

She wishes they hadn't. All the wounds would've made the Games more solid, not phantom snatches of color and light, heat and pain, that have no foothold in reality, making her head swim and almost everything she eats reappear.

They don't care about that though, they only care that she can stand, smile, talk. They only care to see their prize.

And that's exactly what she is.

Her prep team have buffed out every last remaining imperfection, however small and however imperceptible, made her skin a smooth sheet of silk. Every hair is curled, polished, pinned to the sky.

Portia had outdone herself with the gown. With every movement Madge makes the light catches on it. She isn't wearing diamonds. She is a diamond.

It almost makes Madge believe what people keep telling her, that she's won.

But the closer the review comes, the more Ms. Trinket trills and gives her pointers, the more Mr. Abernathy's face settles into an uneasy expression, the more certain she is that she hasn't won anything.

She'd hoped, naively, her last move, destroying the Careers, would move her into a new position, promote her from a pawn to a queen, give her a new set of skills to play with, end the game. They left Mr. Abernathy alone, after all, why shouldn't she be the same?

It had been a foolish, childish thing to believe.

All she'd done it seems, is restart the game.

She isn't a queen anymore than any of the other Victors, no matter how clever she'd thought her victory had been. Madge is a pawn still, and she's back at the starting square.

#######

The Madge on the stage for the review of the Games is a shell.

She smiles and laughs, her eyes are open and she's breathing, but there's no life in her, Gale is certain of it.

It's her first appearance since the Games ended almost a week ago.

They've washed her, shined her up for their viewing pleasure. Her skin is velvety smooth, almost ethereal, and they've replaced her tattered clothes with another fancy gown and painted a smile on her face, but they can't force the life back into her eyes.

"At least they didn't do any modifications," Mellark whispers. "Wonder why not."

It's a small mercy. For as long as Gale can remember, most Victors have come back without some kind of modification. Only Finnick Odair had escaped, and that bodes ominous to Gale.

She watches the recap of the Games, each death with the same vacant expression, wide eyes and a forced smile, never breaking. Not even when they show the deaths she'd missed, the girl from Eleven crying and the anguished screams of her District partner or the bloody death of the boy from Three, does her expression falter.

Gale sees her eyes shine though.

Madge doesn't let the tears that most would miss fall, and he isn't sure if it's a new skill she's acquired or her lifetime as a politician's daughter that trained her to never let them see her cry.

"She's still in there," Mellark finally says, glancing over at Gale and Katniss. "She's smart."

Whether Katniss knows what Mellark means or not, Gale isn't sure, but he does.

She's out of the Arena, but she isn't, not really.

The Game hasn't ended.

#######

"She seemed sad," Vick whispers as he sits at the edge of his bed, peering across the small, dark space over at Gale. "Did she seem sad to you?"

"She killed people, Vick," Rory groans, covering his head with a pillow. "I'm sure she feels bad. That probably makes her sad."

Vick shoots him a dark look and turns back to Gale, eyebrows scrunched together.

Gale pulls his shirt off, throws it onto the dresser and flops down on his mattress. He might as well be sleeping on the floor for all the cushion it provides.

Glancing over at Vick, he sighs. "I don't think winning is all it's cracked up to be."

Especially not from what Gale has seen. Not from what Alameda had said before flying back off to the Capitol.

Nodding, Vick draws his legs up, crosses them under him and stares at the ground.

"It should be."

Gale nods. It really should.

#######

Mellark drags them all to the front of the crowd that's waiting for Madge's triumphant return.

She's a Victor. They'll get extra food, maybe enough food, and they owe that to her. The very people that had laughed at the thought of her in the Games, getting gutted or worse, are cheering as her train glides into sight.

Prim and Katniss have the best position, but Gale is tall enough that it doesn't make any difference to him. Grunting, he hoists Vick up on his shoulders. He's glad Posy stayed with his mother, he doesn't have enough shoulders for two siblings.

Anxiety begins creeping in, the kids, Katniss, even Mellark all have tense expressions fixed on their faces. Gale feels it bubble up even more in his stomach.

The sun beats down, and combined with Vick's weight, Gale quickly begins feeling perspiration beading up and rolling down his back.

He wipes some off and smears it across Rory's face.

"Gaw! Damn it, Gale!" He furiously begins scrubbing his face on the bottom of his shirt, shooting Gale disgusted looks as he does.

The tension, too thick and too taut, snaps as Prim starts laughing. Then Katniss. Then Mellark and Vick.

Gale snickers as Rory turns his back on all of them with one last filthy glare.

Vick crosses his arms and rests them against Gale's head, still chuckling at Rory's annoyance.

Their momentary break, their one second of oblivion, is punctured by the train's whistle.

As it slows to a stop, windows catching the sun, Alameda's words drift through Gale's mind, harsh and hopeless.

"_No one comes home from the Games, not really. Some get sent back in caskets and some in crowns, but in the end? Only the dead really get the prize. The rest are just in a well furnished hell."_

Squinting at the train, polished and perfect, Gale hopes she's wrong.

Madge is back, she's alive and outside the Capitol's grasp for the moment.

_Everything is going to be okay._

That's what he tells himself anyway.

He doesn't believe it for a minute.

#######

They give her a choice for her dress.

"You'd look darling in purple," Ms. Trinket coos, running her hands over the velvet and silk of the gaudy dress. "And with your crown? You'd look like true royalty!"

Madge turns it down instantly, pushing it into Ms. Trinket's hands and telling her it's a gift.

"Please, for all your help."

She cries over if for nearly an hour, until Mr. Abernathy tells her to take her blubbering to her own room so Madge can change and stop fussing over her.

"You could try being nice to her, you know?" Madge mumbles as Ms. Trinket, still sniffling, takes the dress out the door.

He rolls his eyes. "I could, but I won't."

Too exhausted from Ms. Trinket's crying to argue with him again, Madge collapses onto the bed.

She wants to sleep, more than anything, but she can't. Screams and blood haunt her, mockingjays and tracker jackers, spears and mines, there's no escaping them.

Ms. Trinket had offered to get Madge a sedative, but Mr. Abernathy had lost his temper over that.

"They'll help her get some rest," Ms. Trinket had told him loftily. "She's dead on her feet, the poor dear."

"She'll sleep when she's ready," he snapped, adding several colorful insults after. Madge still isn't certain what some of them even meant.

"Why can't I have one?" She wanted nothing more than a dreamless oblivion and Ms. Trinket had assured her the little pill, a mauve square, would give her just that.

"I'm not drinking, you're not taking some damn pill," had been his answer.

She'd nearly snapped that she wasn't a drunk, not an addict, but then she glanced in the mirror, saw her glassy eyes and lank hair.

If she'd added a few wrinkles, an airy, empty smile, she might've been her mother.

It had stunned her into silence, and she hadn't argued with him after that, didn't so much as breath a word to Ms. Trinket about sneaking her a pill.

He was saving her from another unfortunate fate, even if he wouldn't put it in so many words, and Madge tries to be grateful.

It's hard though, when she's been running from the ghosts that haunt the space between her and rest for days on end, to feel anything but irritated.

Mr. Abernathy gets up, runs one of his heavy hands over the dress closest to him, picks it up by the hanger and hands it over to her. "Wear this one."

Eyeing it, Madge considers telling him no, just to be stubborn, but the fight is gone from her. All of it had been consumed in the review show, in her forced smile and strained laughter.

She'd used every ounce of energy she had left from her long days in the hospital, in the induced sleep, to make her opening move in this new game.

The Arena is different, but no less dangerous, and her competition is more skilled. She has to be wary every move that she makes, because unlike her last game, the outcome of the new set isn't fixed, and she doesn't know what to expect.

Taking the dress, she goes to the bathroom, slips it on and examines herself in the mirror. She rubs the creams and paints on, just as Portia had told her to, covering up the dark circles that have grown under her eyes. It smoothes out the imperfections, makes her glow, makes her shine.

There's nothing to be done for her eyes though. They give her drops that clear them, but to Madge it makes no difference.

No drops or makeup can cover the emptiness there, the vacant spot her soul had occupied before the Games.

When she step out, hair up in a simple ponytail, a silver ribbon tying it, she forces a smile. "How do I look?"

She hopes the Capitol's magic is enough to cover up all the rips in her, all the frayed edges and torn seams she's trying to hold together.

He takes a step, tucks a stray strand of hair over her shoulder and smiles.

"Like a Victor."

If she had any tears left she'd cry, but she's down to dry sobs in the night.

She certainly doesn't feel like a Victor, like she's won anything but another round in a new game that she isn't even sure how to play.

"What's going to happen to me?" She'd asked Mr. Abernathy as they'd waited for the start of the review.

Her voice had sounded broken, small and pathetic, and she hated herself for it. She needed to be strong, but she wasn't, she never had been.

"Don't worry about that," he'd assured her, holding her in a tight hug. "I'm taking care of it."

She'd gotten frantic after that, after spotting some of the former Victors as she'd peaked out onto the stage, glossy and plastic, trapped in the coils of the Capitol crowds.

"They're-I'm-" she sputtered. The room was too small, the air was too thick, she couldn't breathe. "I can't-"

Mr. Abernathy had made her sit after that, given her a glass that she nearly dropped her hands were shaking so badly.

"Nothing's going to happen to you," he told her, taking her face between his hands. "Understand? I'm taking care of it."

There had been such certainty in his eyes, so much conviction in what he was saying, that Madge wanted to believe him.

He would protect her. He wasn't going to let anything bad happen to her…

"How?" She whispered. If he had some special gift, some way to save her, she wanted to know.

"Don't worry about it."

The fragile hope that he had some power crumbled when she'd had to go out on the stage and watch the falls of each of her fellow Tributes. If he'd had any sway at all, she wouldn't have been there. Not on the stage, not in the Games.

She'd shouted at him when they'd gotten back to the apartment, thrown her shoes and dropped down into a shuddering mess.

He'd stood in the door, watched her warily for several long minutes before speaking.

"It's part of the game, Pearl." She heard him softly walk across the room and drop down onto her bed with a groan. "You have to play, no choice in that, but we can chose how we move, understand?"

She hadn't at the time, too tightly wrapped up with fear and fatigue to appreciate what he was trying to tell her.

Now, as he stands in front of her, digging in his pockets and fishing something out for her, she understands.

He knows the rules to this game, he's been playing it for almost a quarter century after all, he's bound to have picked up the finer points of it by now.

Participation isn't optional, there's no backing away from the game, but they're still in control of the moves they make, where they place their pieces, no matter how weak their status may be.

After a few seconds he pulls something small and golden from his pocket, her pin.

"They brought it to me when they pulled you out." He starts to pin it to her top, but seems to think better of it and takes her hand, presses it into palm.

Madge turns it over in her hand. They'd cleaned it, shined it, just as they'd done to Madge. There isn't so much as a scratch or sign of dust on it, only Mr. Abernathy's clumsy fingerprints.

She pins it to her dress, straightens it, then looks back up.

He takes her face in his hands and presses a kiss to her forehead, a little scratchy, he's either been too preoccupied to shave or has given it back up for the return home; she isn't sure.

"Be brave, Pearl."

When the train starts to slow, the scenery's blurred edges begin to smooth, they leave her room, go to the exit and wait.

Mr. Abernathy gives her another once over, smoothes her hair and tells her to adjust her top, as a band starts to play and the sun cuts into the narrow windows on the doors, bouncing off the dust hanging in the air.

When the doors start to open, Madge fixes a smile on her lips, widens her eyes and lifts her chin.

The game is still being played, with its mysterious rules and uncertain ends, and she can't afford a misstep.

She isn't the Mayor's daughter anymore.

She's a Victor.

#######

AN: And that's all, thanks to everyone for reading. This story is wrapped up, for now at least. Once I finish up the 'in Thirteen' story I plan on following up this story. It's planned out, but it's going to take some time to write. Again, thanks for all the support y'all.


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